


(only a crack in this) castle of glass

by RosaNautica



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: (no idea there was such tag :D), Alcohol Abuse, Alternate Universe - Office, Ambiguous Relationships, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Apologies, Break Up, Dubious Ethics, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Friends to Lovers, Inner Dialogue, Internal Conflict, Interns & Internships, Joylon deserves better I know, Language, Light BDSM, Long-Distance Relationship, Love/Hate, M/M, Office Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Original Character - Freeform, Past Child Abuse, Past Suicide Attempt Mentioned, Porn Addiction, Rare Pairings, Reconciliation, Retrospective, Self-Esteem Issues, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Build, Slut Shaming, Smut, Songfic, Spit Kink, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, a bit rough one, a messed up one obviously, and back to friends, and shameless misuse of nutella, confused Stoffel, drugs and mental health issues mentioned, just one chapter, like the most random pairings I’ve ever seen, no idea where they came from..., sleeping disorder, these tags are getting disturbing...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2019-10-09 03:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 70,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17399549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosaNautica/pseuds/RosaNautica
Summary: They've graduated from high school together. They went to university together. And as a part of their Business & Management studies, they get to do an internship in a well-running company. How will the guys cope with the corporate culture that is so far from their common lives, and with new colleagues?In other words: on power of love and forgiveness.





	1. so you’ve had some detours (some stupid men)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neptunium134](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neptunium134/gifts), [Anna_banana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_banana/gifts).



> So, here’s what I’ve been working on in the past weeks. Ah, winter break and AO3, what are you doing to me?! I’ve never even been reading the AU works, and now I’ve written one… It started as an F1 fic, truly, but very soon became this. And “this” was way more suitable for sharing some stuff that has nothing to do with racing, turned out to be a kind of character study with much sex and feels. In other words: if you’re not a master at plots, write a soap opera XD  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moral of the story: tell people what you feel. The sooner the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope I won’t bore you to death, discourage you with this chapter and later confuse you with the retrospectives, but chronologically it would be awfully slow, hence why it starts in medias res. Anyways, here you go:

“Nice ass you've got there, Lancey,” Checo smacked.

“Heard it's not just nice,” someone called over.

Lance, bent down to look for something in the drawers, froze and sat on his heels. And Ocon tried to recall when and where it all started. First cat-calls as Lance walked past somebody, first vulgar remarks… He started to avoid certain company as he couldn't take it anymore. Listening about all that Stroll likes and how he likes it and what he's pretty good at was making him want to throw up.

“You realize how sick you are?!” he burst out at some point.

“Oh my god, don't be a kiddo, Esteban! Show me a man that doesn't brag about his accomplishments.”

“This is far from accomplishments! You just… toss him around like…”

“Like a slut. Because when you're a slut, they treat you like one,” Nico shrugged.

“He's not…”

“Oh, he is,” Checo intervened. “I know you are friends and stuff, but he'd go down on anyone.”

Esteban couldn’t deny the obvious. Yet he knew, he _knew_ his Lance was better than that. He saw him hurt by all this and though he couldn't understand why he kept doing whatever he was doing, Ocon just believed there was more to him.

“At least one thing he can do well,” Hülkenberg continued, sitting on the table with his feet on armrest of Stoffel's chair, idly spinning the Belgian back and forth, and Esteban somehow suspected he was the one who started all this distasteful entertainment.

“He still has more _Employees of the Week_ than you,” he was happy to point out before he left. Lance had one, to be precise, and it was for his effort rather than actual results, but it was still more than zero.

 

They have been there since mid-September and somehow, in a month, that sweet boy started to hook up with both Hülkenberg and Vandoorne. Much to Esteban’s shock, he was even _proud_ of it, at the beginning. Not that he said it, but it was obvious, from the way he was confessing to Esteban, all flushed and excited, that Nico asked him out, they kissed, they made out, they… well, went at it, and then that Stoffel, well… fucked him on the table in a conference room…

The excitement quickly passed, the blush remained. The worst thing was, he couldn’t complain on harassment or bullying as he asked for it himself, basically. So he just suffered in his shame. Esteban suffered along.

~

He leaned on the table to write something down. Vandoorne stopped by to press at his lower back, grab his hip and perform a very obscene movement.

Lance just tightened the grip on his pen, writing a bit jerky.

Esteban watched him scribble in the day planner and all the questions he wanted to ask were building a lump in his throat. What makes you return in the arms of someone who's going to spill everything in detail the next day, over and over? Where's your pride? Where the hell is your self-esteem? Do you cry at nights, Lance? At your lonely, dreamless nights? How much is left of your innocence I liked about you? And most important: _why_? Why, Lance, why?! Why are you self-degrading yourself in this manner?

He never turned his back on Stroll, despite all the laughs and talks, stood by his side at all kinds of gatherings, at the meetings, sat with him at lunch, chattered with him as if nothing happened any every time he tried to touch the matter of his strange affairs, Lance halted him quickly and changed the topic. He was clearly ashamed, frustrated, and Esteban wanted so much to tear down his walls, tell him his problems were more important than anything he might think (or anyone else, for that matter), tell him he was an amazing person, ask how much of all the gossips around the office was actually true… But he couldn't find the right words. So he was just pretending he didn’t see anything.

 

Until he just couldn’t pretend anymore.

Nico slapped Lance's ass as he passed by. The Canadian clenched his fists and glanced to the sides before hanging his head low.

And Esteban’s nerves gave up that evening.

“What's wrong with you?!” he smashed the pack of crisps Lance tossed him against the table, ripping it open, and turned off the movie. _You’re not getting away with this any longer…_

“Huh?” Lance turned to him, surprised.

“How aren’t you sick of it, Lance?”

“I am,” he whispered.

“And still you fuck around.”

“Well… what happens in the department stays in the department, right? And there… it doesn't matter anymore, anyways.”

“And if it does? If it mattered to me, Lance? Would you care?”

Lance gasped, eyes wide with horror.

“Oh no… I'm so sorry, Tebi!” he backed away a few steps. “I'm really sorry, I just… didn't realize, sorry, I won't embarrass you anymore, I promise…”

“What?! What are you talking about?”

“About… about us, no?”

“Yeah, and?”

“Well, I don't exactly make you look good, right? So…”

“No! No, no, no, that's not it, not at all! I don't give a fuck about how I look, I was talking about _you_!”

Lance blinked.

“What. The. Fuck. Are you doing to yourself, Lance?! It's… it's disgusting! Fuck, they call you their bitch and you just don't care? What's wrong with you, Lance? I can't stand it… but fuck, that should be you!” Esteban shook him by the shoulders. “Imagine what it feels like, to see you… disrespected in front of everyone, and listen about how you suck and how you fuck… when I wanted to find out myself… and it fucking hurts _me_ , Lance, what is it doing to you?! Lance?”

Stroll's jaw dropped low.

“Say it again?” he cleared his throat.

“What?”

“What you just said.”

“That it hurts to see you…”

“No.”

“To hear them… oh.” Ocon trailed off. He didn't mean to tell him, and certainly not this way. But it couldn't be unsaid. “Talk about how you are in bed, because I wanted to find out myself,” he kept his voice as steady as he could, and before he could offer any explanation, Lance broke down in tears, laughing on the edge of hysteria. Esteban grasped at his shoulders. “Lance, are you okay?!”

“Five years,” he shook his head, “I'd never thought you might want me, never…” The laughter turned into choked sobs. “Five fucking years…”

Esteban locked him in tight embrace.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered in his hair. “I'm sorry, Lance, I'm so, so sorry…” _For all the times I held back from kissing you. For all the nights I haven’t crawled into your bed and cuddle you. For all the touches I played down with some joke. For not telling you time ago…_

He wasn’t even sure he was into boys, for the most part. He was just into Lance. Then he started to look around to find he found them attractive in general… But he didn’t want to risk their friendship, and besides, Lance seemed to be always pining for some college jocks… for some colleagues… seeing him only as a friend.

“I love you, Canuck.” He threaded his fingers through soft black hair and tilted Lance's head to kiss him; a gentle touch giving enough space to pull away. Lance didn't. He just froze, incredulous.

“After all tha…”

“I don't care. I love you, Lancey. _I love you_.”

Stroll curled up against his chest.

“I love you, too.”

Esteban was stroking his back, not quite believing how he lucked out. Now he’s going to show him what a relationship looks like...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to kick it off somehow... Any constructive comments on this mess much appreciated :) thx


	2. i am not my mistakes (and god knows i’ve made a few)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- + - = +, right? Or, if two people equally hurt each other, they are bound to either never look each other in the eyes again, or forgive.  
> It’s hard to avoid someone when you see him eight hours a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess I hit a new low with this fic... and I just don’t know if it really sucks that much or... Just a quick note whether I should update this or not would make my anxious writer’s heart truly happy, thank you in advance. Here’s chapter 2:

“Hey, want a hand with it?”

“Oh. Would be nice, thank you,” Lance pushed stacks of paper towards him.

“Shit, I was hoping for polite refusal,” Nico laughed. He was absentmindedly adjusting the stacks. “Look, uhm… I want to apologize. I was a complete asshole and I know a sorry is not enough, but I really mean it. I am very, very sorry.”

„Accepted,” Lance offered a smile.  “Actually, I owe you one as well, I fucked up, too. I… I’m sorry, I somehow thought… you know, they say…”

“That I’m easy. That I bang Vandoorne, or Vandoorne bangs me, doesn’t matter. That I’m a notorious flirt. Yeah, people talk shit, sometimes… I don’t blame you. Anyways, I went quite too far and… I just want you to know it’s not my style…”

“I know.” He knew. Honestly, Nico was so kind, so sweet, before Lance… well… did that. “We didn’t have the best start, but… I think we could try it again?”

“Like, starting over? Hey, I’m Nico,” he stretched out his hand. Lance shook it firmly.

“Lance, nice to meet you.”

“Oh my God, been a while since I was doing this shit…” He slipped off the table he was half-sitting on and took some papers.

“Don’t mess it up.”

Nico blinked.

“Show some thankfulness, maybe?!”

“Yeah, thank you and stuff, but… don’t mess it up.”

“No problem,” he grinned and moved to his table. “Don’t worry, what you learn in younger years…”

Lance just couldn’t be mad at him for too long. At Stoffel, okay. But Nico… Nico has changed a lot. Or rather, turned to how he used to be. He was utterly respectful, getting out of Lance's way anytime they met at the doors or in the hallway, giving helpful advice on work, his jokes became completely innocent and truly funny… And there was a new sadness to his eyes when he thought no one was looking. Lance watched him sort out the paperwork with routine he could only dream of. He still had to concentrate on what he was doing, even with the dullest tasks. Nico's mind was obviously wandering elsewhere while he was highlighting, stamping, signing and clipping the papers together, melancholy taking over fine features.

Their start wasn’t bad at all, to be fair. On the first day the head of department gave Lance and Esteban a small tour of their new working place. They met strange analyst Vandoorne, who shook their hands with expressionless coldness, funny Mexican Checo, Romain from accounting, till finally they reached a blonde bunch of energy, warmly welcoming them to the team.

 _“Here’s our precious Milo Minderbinder… Even he wouldn’t sell shit like Nico does,”_ Horner clasped the man’s shoulder, who put on a smug smirk. The boys exchanged confused looks as they shook his hand and continued the tour.

 _“So, who’s this Milo?”_ Lance asked, once settled in new environment, to start the conversation.

 _“Oh, you’ve got some literature to read, kiddo,”_ Nico laughed, sitting on his desk, _“called Catch-22. That’s the one you didn’t bother to read at school and just copy-pasted the analysis, right?”_ he laughed even harder at Lance’s thoughtful look. In sounded familiar indeed.

_“Y-yeah, probably…”_

_“Nevermind. There was this Milo guy making interesting deals at any cost… So yeah, Chris calls me that. But I wouldn’t feed people with chocolate-coated cotton, I’m not such a dick… Read it, it will serve you well.”_

He was insanely attractive, Lance had to admit, and really likeable as a person. And as he found out Nico also swings that way, the interest grew.

It happened in the diner. There was no place around their table for Stoffel to sit. Nico stood up, the Belgian waved him off saying he’s not his superior and Nico doesn’t have to lick his ass and looked around where to snatch a free chair, and Nico took his tray, placed it on the table and pulled him in his lap; Stoffel rolled his eyes but remained seated, Nico’s hand resting casually above his knee. 

 _“If I were gay, I would totally love to get between you two,”_ Danny killed it; Stoffel leaned into the German, whose arm wrapped around his waist.

 _“You wish,”_ he licked his lips and stuffed a fork in his mouth. He was eating peacefully, Nico caressing his hip absent-mindedly as he was talking to the others. The scene had provoked some raised eyebrows and perplexed, disgusted, amused stares, and Lance couldn’t get his jaw back in its place. He was flustered and couldn’t exactly tell by what.

 

 _“So, you and Stoffel…”_ he began hesitantly when they met by the coffee machine, a few days later.

 _“What? Nothing, me and Stoffel are playing around,”_ Nico shrugged it off. _“Why?”_

_“Just asking…”_

_“Jealous?”_ Nico smirked and when Lance didn’t reply, he leaned closer, sensing the opportunity. _“Wanna go out tonight? Just the two of us.”_

Lance nodded, petrified. That wasn’t _“we’re hitting the club, wanna join?”_ , that was the first invite on a date he’s ever gotten. From one of the hottest guys he’s ever met. Who was weirdly playing around with his weird colleague, but who cares?

They went out. It was fun, it was nice. And Nico casually touching him all the time was making his knees buckle.

 _“I’ll drive you home,”_ he said, and kissed him in the car under Lance’s house. It was short, sweet and Lance wanted it to last at least forever, because what the hell, he was just kissed, for the first time ever, and well, it wasn’t Esteban, but still, it was a kiss… And it definitely could be something more, too, which Lance craved so much…

Even now, looking back, he couldn’t tell why he did it. Or well, he could. Because he was high on the fact that all of a sudden, two fricking handsome guys were interested in him. Because he was fixed on Esteban, and whatever they were doing with Nico, he was taking for a… sort of useful experience. And the more various experience one gets, the better. Either way, Nico was just playing around, no? Lance just bluntly used him, if he was honest. And misjudged him terribly.

 

Past five, Esteban brought him a cup of coffee and stopped for a word or two.

“So, how long are you staying?”

“Until I’m done with it. But you can go, really.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah. Not your fault it takes me twice as much time to do stuff than anyone else… Just go, I’ll see you at home.” He accompanied Esteban to the corridor, kissed him and returned to his documents, taking a small detour.

 

Tasty smell caught Nico's attention; he looked up to see a steamy cup on his table and Lance smiling across the office at him. He raised a thumb and took a sip, pushing his chair backwards and putting his feet amidst the papers on the table. Lance always envied him a little. Being an internship new kid on the block, he couldn't afford such cheekiness. No one else could, actually. On the other hand, it might be one reason for Nico being stuck in place. Because he was a great worker, he truly was, he just lacked determination, discipline, all that's necessary to climb up the career ladder.

He was gazing out of the window, city lights reflecting on his face, and Lance though maybe it was the right moment.

“Are you okay?”

“You mean at the moment?”

“I mean in general.”

“No.” As simple as that. “You sign your soul to devil here. You slowly die inside. It's fine for the beginning, a good start into life, you earn good money, you see what it's all about… But at some point, you're drawn in too deep and there's no way out. Be careful, Lance, and when you feel like you can't keep on top of things anymore and you're taking it too serious, you start losing your private life and put your work above all the rest, run as fast as you can, and take Esteban with you.”

“You can always leave, too.”

Nico shook his head.

“I can't. I'd say you'll understand, but I really hope you won't. Remember this, Lance, and don't let it get too far, it's not like _I'll just finish this and after that_ … or _it's just a phase and when the company is through it, I'll take a breath…_ No, you won't. You'll lose every good sense and you'll be staying here into the night, everything else will be just an unimportant blur of boring dailiness, you won't have any deeper feelings and you'll fuck just to empty your balls and not let them distract you from your work… You'll get all steel and glass, like this beloved building: hard, cold, smooth and slick, reflecting everything and nobody will know what chaos lies beneath, not even you, at some point… Watch out, Lance. It will come, and I don't want you to end up like that. Like… this, like us.”

“Funny that _you_ are saying this.”

“Hm?” Nico raised his eyebrows, swallowing the coffee.

“You’re… different.” Lance’s eyes dropped to the upper button of his shirt always undone, to the feet on the desk.

“Ah, kid,” he laughed softly, “there are things in life that give you the right not to give two fucks anymore. But they cost. You can go without… But yeah. They won’t get to me with their corporate identity, I have my own one, I’m just too good to get sacked, so I’m still sticking around. Trust me, you would fly out of that window if you acted like this… And I’m not trying to brag, it’s just… If it wasn’t for Christian, I would fly, too. Don’t know how long he’s going to stay, but when some prick takes his place… I don’t think I’m gonna last much here… And maybe it’s for the best.” He downed the coffee. “Go home, I’ll finish it.”

“Come on, you should go home, too!”

 _Yeah, what for?_ Nico didn’t say. _I don’t have my boyfriend waiting for me..._ He needed something to occupy his mind, and those dumb invoices were still better than nothing at all.

“Sod off, Stroll,” he waved him off, “I’ll be glad to stick here till midnight, I get paid for it.”

 

He watched Lance go and thought of those lips Esteban will get to kiss that night, thought of the looks guys were giving him when he said he made it up and couldn’t care less whether he made a fool out of himself, just so Lance’s reputation was at least somewhat saved, and his wasn’t worth anything, anyways, he was still the same big-mouthed Nico,  thought of Stoffel’s incredulous glare of disapproval and thanked him for playing along nevertheless.


	3. we were just kids (when we fell in love)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance reminisces, Esteban gets caught up in the glitz.

“Mr. Kors, I need those quotations!” Checo called over.

“Yeah, I’m sending them right now,” Esteban answered, amused.

Lance found it rather sad, that his boyfriend was taking pride in throwing his hard-earned money down the drain. He knew a thing or two about the fashion industry and it led him to believe it was all one big pompous bubble. But explain it to Esteban, with his _Michael_ _Kors_ wallet proudly placed on the desk as if it really was his nametag and hoping people were noticing the _YSL_ mark on his suit, deep down knowing they were, just as he was noticing theirs…

Lance was eyeing him across the row of desks and felt a cold grip at his stomach. There was something new to Esteban’s face, screen brightness was highlighting unfamiliar hardness so dissonant in soft, mild features.

 

“Hey, what’s up, Canuck?” a nudge brought him back to reality. Esteban used to call him that in tender moments since high school, in memory of their beginnings.

A fourteen-year-old was standing there in empty hall in his maple leaf cap, somewhat late for the lesson, looking around cluelessly, when a strong French accent reached his ears:

_“Hey, uhm… you Canuck over there,”_ tall slim boy waved at him, _“mind telling me where the science class is? We… we are classmates, right?!”_

_“Think so, yeah… Erm, do I look like I have any idea? I’m just as lost,”_ Lance shrugged. _“Upstairs, I guess? I don’t know.”_

Esteban shrugged, too, and went for the stairs. They found the class but spent half of the lesson chattering quietly, just as all the remaining lessons and the lunch… And stuck together ever since.

“Nothing,” Lance shook his head. _Except for… everything, lately_.

“So, tonight? Movies, bowling, bar?”

Lance thought for a moment, long arms circling him from behind, Esteban’s chin resting on his shoulder.

“Bowling.”

“Alright. Give me ten minutes, please, love, and we can go. Yes?”

“Sure.” _Because why would you finish when normal people do?_ Lance leaned into his chair, gazing absently in the ceiling.

 

_“So? Who are you going to the prom with?”_

_“No idea. I don’t think I’m going there at all.”_

_“Are you kidding me?! No, you won’t leave me there alone. You’ll be my date, Lancey,”_ Esteban decided, snatching a handful of french-fries from his meal.

_“Whoa, haven’t you invited…”_

_“No, I haven’t,”_ he shook his head, barely understandable with stuffed mouth. _“I don’t even know where you got that idea from, she’s just a friend. Yeah. We go together, maybe I’ll even ask you for a slow dance, if you behave.”_

Lance sipped at his coke to hide the blush.

_“Maybe I’ll step on your foot a bit too hard then, if you don’t shut up right now,”_ he replied nonchalantly and snapped away the Frenchman’s hand. _“And go get your own food. You need it, honestly.”_

 

The nowadays Lance couldn’t help but wonder, what could’ve been if they really went for that slow dance (more precisely, if he hadn’t declined Esteban’s playful _“Shall we dance?”_ , too afraid to embarrass himself eternally if they pressed together), if he leaned into him as they were sitting on the stands of stadium, where they retreated soon from crowded gym to have peace for their talks, watching the stars, if they closed those few inches when Esteban turned to him, stardust sparkling in his night sky colored eyes, and said something about the most perfect night with the most perfect boy, Lance didn’t hear it properly, too struck by his beauty and proximity…

~

They won one game each, during the decisive one they were making out more than playing at some point, so they just called it a draw and went home. For a few hours it felt quite how it used to. Just the two of them, stupid ideas, silly laughs, and Lance was so happy, finally, and so, so… _proud_ , being kissed in the bar, in the subway train, in the middle of the street, he couldn’t care less about the stares and glares, for once he felt his self-confidence touching the sky. So what if Esteban was a bit possessive. If this was the effect, he liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit short, but hope you enjoyed :)


	4. a beating heart of stone (living your life cut-throat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s something about him that’s just too hard to resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A step further down the serpentines of "bad Stoffel road." This honestly felt uncomfortable to write, although consensual and stuff; apologies if it’s uncomfortable to read as well, but I needed it for the development...

His eyes flickered between Stoffel’s fingers moving over the keyboard, lips drawn between his teeth in focus and glassy eyes fixed on the screen, where the report on impact of three closed branches on sales was appearing.

“How could you… _forget_ it’s today?!” Stoffel shook his head, putting the review together some half an hour before it was to be presented on the meeting. “What the fuck do you have on your mind?” To have peace and quiet, he retreated in a small conference room with Jolyon, who was creating the graphs to put into the presentation, fingers trembling slightly. Oh god, how he hated hectic working… And Stoffel’s endless scolding.

“What, your goldfish died? What on earth, tell me, is more important than _your_ _job_?!” He quickly added a few speaker notes to the slides. “I honestly don’t understand how you are still working here, you’re a disaster, Jo. A fricking smart idiot, that’s rare…”

Well, that wasn’t nice, but quite accurate. Jolyon had a brilliant brain, but somehow couldn’t use its full potential. He was… messy. So caught up in his analyses that he was losing touch with reality, sometimes.

“You owe me something for this, darling,” the Belgian breathed out, shutting the laptop closed and shoving the flash drive with presentation into his pocket.

“Whatever, just let it be already,” Jolyon sighed, wiping his forehead. Stoffel quirked an eyebrow.

“What? You being a distracted dumbass?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Well, you can come here,” Stoffel checked the time, locked the door, closed the blinds, “and make me forget it for a while…” He leaned against the table, Jolyon dropped to his knees and unzipped his pants. He wondered whether the man was permanently half-hard, or it was stressful situations turning him on. Either way, it was appealing. Saltiness on the tip of his tongue had him shiver with strange excitement. After a few tentative licks he started sucking, taking it deeper, fondling Stoffel’s balls with one hand, a press at his nape making him gag, eyes watery. After a while Stoffel grasped at his head with both hands, tilted it back and thrusted into his throat.

„Good boys swallow, Jo,” he said holding him firm, while Jolyon tried to breathe and cough, choking on the cock and cum. Eventually, he let go, with a light stroke to his hair on damp forehead. “Okay?”

The Brit nodded, gasping for air while licking him clean and wiping the involuntary wetness off his eyes.

“See? This was good. And we won’t mention today anymore, everything’s fine until you fuck up again…”

“I won’t,” Jolyon almost whispered, raspy edge to his voice. Oh god, how Stoffel loved that sound…

“You will, but that’s fine, you’ve got the Stoff around to clean the mess.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“No problem. See, that’s how mutual benefits work. You’re fucking good at this, you know?”

Jolyon nodded, as if hypnotized. And no matter he never was into men before. Stoffel was something… something unreal. He wasn’t even a man. He was sex on legs. And Jolyon wanted it so bad. Sex, that is. He’s always been awkward around girls, didn’t know how to approach them, what to do with them, didn’t think there was anything for them to see in him… And then along came Vandoorne, a tsunami wave that swept him off his feet by its raw force, never waiting for his move, never needing any encouragements… It was easy. Just the thought of being wanted, somehow, praised by him for how he was doing at least at something, able to please him, was delighting. And he felt a bit more of a man himself. Anything is better than dying virgin…

Stoffel zipped up and waved at him to follow, hastening to the office where synopsis of the presentation was waiting in printer. Work mode fully on. Not that he ever switched off, actually, Jolyon corrected. _Android_. And he even liked being called that.

~

“Stoffel is on fire,” Lance commented under his breath, as the Belgian finished the presentation in a round of polite applause. Tiniest spark of envy died with Nico’s reply:

“Well, he’s gonna burn out. And it won’t be pretty. I just hope someone will be around to collect the ashes and bury them with honours. He’d deserve at least that.”

“For giving people shit?”

Nico didn’t respond immediately, biting at the inside of his cheek.

“He can’t stand them giving less than hundred and twenty percent. Take no notice. You’ve got nothing to do with him, you don’t ha…”

“Esteban does.”

“Esteban won’t take any shit, he knows his value. And I really doubt Stoffel would have anything to tell him, anyways. He’s on fire, too.”

“Trying to impress a bit too much,” Lance added. Nico looked at him.

“Oh,” he said. “Well… I don’t know him as well as you do. But I think he has higher ambitions than serving as someone’s doormat.”

Lance glanced at Jolyon, guessing it was a shot at him. The Brit was sitting on the edge of his chair, fidgeting with a pen and Lance suspected something tense preceded the meeting. He had understood a bit about Stoffel’s vulturous nature: he could precisely sense people’s weaknesses and twist the knife in them. Just like Lance’s dizziness from being wooed. Just like Jolyon’s distracted clumsiness. Seeing how he was treating his colleague was unsettling and Lance was truly glad he got as far from him as possible soon enough.

What was even more unsettling, Esteban seemed to be going quite the opposite way.

“Stoffel is a beast,” he said in oddly worshipping voice when the meeting was over. “I mean, just look at him, twenty-six and where he is, it's impressive…”

“He's steel and glass,” Lance uttered.

“Huh?”

“No, nothing. Yeah, he's pretty ambitious,” he agreed. From what he knew, Vandoorne started pretty much like them, as an intern, but soon left the university to dedicate to work fulltime, as he found the studies useless, time-killing and soul-crushing. _Funny, how differently things can be seen,_ Lance thought of that evening talk with Nico, _in span of a few years of age_.

 

~

~

 

Nico glanced over his shoulder at Esteban sitting by Stoffel, nodding attentively, all caught up in whatever the Belgian was explaining to him. He pursed his lips in thought.

“Is it just me…”

“No, it's not,” Lance snapped, frantically pushing the lift button. “You know… I think that’s what happens when you suddenly get what you’ve been craving for all your life…”

“Which means?”

“Money,” he shrugged. “Esteban is from… they never had a lot, and now he…it’s like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. See, for me, it's not such a big deal…”

“Of course.”

“… and I’ve understood long ago they don’t buy you happiness, as corny as it sounds. But I can't explain it to him, every time I try, he gets all touchy and says I’m jealous cause he’s doing better and shit… Fuck, I’m not, not at all, I just… I think that’s what you were talking about,” he sighed, “he can't see anything but _this_.”

“You still sleep together?” Nico asked after a while and should it be anyone else, under any other circumstances, Lance would’ve stopped the elevator on nearest floor and walked straight away.

“Not really,” he admitted. It had turned into a duty rather than pleasure, with Ocon just keen on getting the job done quickly between coming home late from overtimes and leaving early in the morning, and with Lance not too attracted to him anymore… It all dawned on him suddenly. All their years together, all they've shared suddenly fading away, their dreams and plans taking opposite directions, that smile that used to brighten Lance's life suddenly turning into a self-content smirk, and all of their love into something twisted. “Sorry,” he muttered and turned away. A pair of arms circled him from aside. It felt nice. He dared to lean against Nico and after a while turned around to properly hug him back. It was nothing more than a short innocent embrace, yet it left him feeling warm, safe and understood. He saw the soft glow in Nico's eyes and thought that maybe he wasn’t so emotionally drained.

At the exit Nico cleared his throat.

“Any plans for tonight?”

“Sleeping?”

“And having some fun before?” he smiled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t hate me pls... You don’t, right?


	5. your love is like a shadow on me (all of the time)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Lance learns to understand what love looks like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about this messy chapter but I need a build-up to get to the point(s)...

Shrieking sounds stabbed into his brain. It took him a few moments of agony to get used to the dark and find the source of the noise. It was an alarm clock. He slammed it a few times to shut it up and plunged himself into the pillows again. He was half drifted off, when a jolt of panic ran through him. First, _work_. Second, _where the hell is he?!_ Looking around, he found out he woke up in empty bed, in unfamiliar room. Smell of fresh linen contrasted with his sweaty wrinkled shirt. He looked around, terrified. _What the fuck did I do last night?!_ He got out of the bed and slowly walked to the door, recalling how it went. He left the office, fed up with always waiting for Esteban staying until six or so… Nico came by, asked if he wanted to hang out… they went to play billiard… and that’s pretty much it. Black-out, then.

He remotely recognized the flat, then also the figure on the couch.

“Wake up call,” he shook their shoulder, thinking how to decently find out what was happening. The German lifted an eyelid and cracked a smile. (Lance took a note that sleepy Nico looks incredibly sweet.)

“G'morning,” he muttered, stretching out. “What?”

“You slept here?”

“Well, you’re a guest, you get the bed. Plus, turns out you get quite clingy when you drink,” Nico yawned, “and I didn’t want you to think we fucked or stuff… Cause we didn’t.”

“Oh. Sorry. Thanks.”

“Not a biggie. What time is it?”

“Half past six.”

“Oh yeah. Get up, lazy pigs… you don’t go to work for kicks… Well. Could be worse. You work today?”

“Yep.”

“Oh, I should’ve asked before I let you get that second double shot... My fault, sorry. Breakfast on the road to Barad-dûr?”

“Sounds good,” Lance nodded, amazed by Nico’s ability to generate rhymes, while he was hardly remembering his last name. (Then again, Nico surely hadn’t drunk that much. He shouldn’t have, neither.) And he added a happy _“You like the Lord of the Rings?”_ mental note to the long list of things he wanted to ask him.

“Wanna stop at home to get some clean clothes? Though I can give you some, if you don’t wanna be late…”

“If you're okay with it…” He wasn't in a mood to go there.

“Sure.” Nico rummaged through his wardrobe and pulled out a neatly ironed light blue shirt. “Not exactly your color, sorry, but I don’t think I have anything better, right now…"

“That's fine, really.”

“Should fit you well. So, bathroom is yours, feel free to use anything you see, there should be some folded clean towel… and I'll find you a toothbrush.”

Lance couldn't help a twinge at his stomach. The situation was so… domestic – maybe more than it should have been. But then again, after what they used to do, a borrowed shirt is literally nothing. It just felt so intimate, and not in a sexual way.

“Here you go,” Nico waved a toothbrush at him, “and move your ass, I need to shave.”

“Do you?” Lance said and blushed immediately.

“Would be nice to have you for boss,” Nico laughed.

“I mean, you can shave while I'm in the shower…” Wonderful, Stroll. Better and better.

“If you don't sing horribly…”

“Judging by the music you listen, you might actually like my singing.” He closed the shower box.

“Oh. That truly hurt.”

“What is it, actually?”

“I'll show you on the way.”

Further dialogue had to wait, as it wasn't really comfortable to shout over the sounds of splashing water, electric razor and Lance's malicious version of _I will survive_ which he cut down really quick, when a tube of shaving foam thrown into the shower box landed on his shoulder.

They stopped in a café near Nico's house, grabbed two sandwiches and coffees to go and headed for the metro. It was a short way. Even too short for Stroll's liking.

“Yeah, I moved closer when I got too annoyed by all that, at least I wanted to be there and back home as fast as possible,” Nico explained, while Lance was going through his playlists, sharing the earphones. There was a lot of Linkin Park, Green Day, My Chemical Romance and other names that Lance has never even heard but could bet it was also some kind of screaming. “Helps to get through stuff,” he was told. He was dying to know what stuff but didn’t want to be nosy.

 ~

 “Oh, you're alive.” Esteban acknowledged his presence with little enthusiasm.

“Hi.”

“Where did you sleep?”

“Wow. You noticed I wasn’t there?”

Ocon blinked.

“Where did you sleep last night, Lance?”

“Do you actually care?”

“Fine. Wherever it was, you can go pack your shit and stay there. Turns out boys were right, huh?” he added. Lance almost dropped dead. Through the blood thumping in his ears, he could hear Vandoorne chuckle, and then Nico's voice on the edge of threaten cut through:

“Take it back.”

Lance looked around, so did Ocon, realization dawning on him.

“Whoa. Is that seriously _you_ speaking?!” he put on an ironic smile.

“Well, I had a reason,” Nico lowered his voice.

“I'm fine with my boyfriend in your shirt for a reason. But whatever. You can have him back.”

Lance couldn’t believe his ears. Hard to say which was worse: the words or Esteban's cold, flat voice. Or the fact he had nowhere to hide. And couldn’t find a single word in his defense, although he did nothing wrong. Right? He just wanted to have some fun…

“I'm sorry,” Nico muttered. “See, you should’ve gone get those clothes.”

“Nevermind.” Lance sipped at his coke to swallow the lump. “If this is his trust for me, we're done.”

Nico was tempted to say something along the lines of _“once a cheater, always a cheater, your mistakes always turn against you in the worst moment,”_ but seeing him so beaten, he couldn’t. Lance offered a small smile and turned to his excel sheets. Nico glanced at his watch. This was about to be a long day.

~

He was so, so sorry.

He would never think that of Lance, _never_.

But they were fine, right?

“We are fine, right?!” Esteban repeated, staring at him with a look Lance couldn’t quite decipher, and all he managed to say was:

“I don’t know… _I’m_ _not_.”

“I know. I’m really sorry! But you…”

“You don’t get to decide who I can or cannot go out with, Esteban. Either you trust me, or you can let go.”

„I see a difference between going out and sleeping at…”

“Yeah, I know! I know and I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, but I was just too trashed to go home. My mistake. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Good. And I trust you, I… I didn’t mean to say that, Lancey, I swear I… I just didn’t know how to get you to realize how it felt to me – not knowing where you are, who with, doing what, you weren’t responding… Imagine it, Lance. It’s awful. And then you just walk in here as if nothing, in his shirt… I’m really sorry, love, I didn’t mean to, I… I was just afraid, and so pissed…”

“Yeah, no, you had a right to, I get it.” Truly, it wasn’t fair, not to let him know at all. A new remorse added to all the remorses for feeling better with Nico than with his own boyfriend. “It’s okay.”

“Is it?”

Lance didn’t reply. They fundamentally weren’t okay. But the question was about _here and now_. He nodded, let himself be drawn in a hug and wished so much to believe it.

 

~

 

“Keep an eye on my beauty here, will you?” Nico caressed the orchid’s waxy petal.

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” he grinned. “Business trip to Germany. As you might have noticed, if you weren’t spacing out at the presentation like smart people do, last month Stoffel wrote an impressive dissertation on perspectives of opening a branch in Dortmund, so I’m going there to check how it would work in real life,” he laughed. “Some meetings, some dinners with potential clients…”

“Nice! Will you get to stop at home, actually?”

“Don’t think so. Would be great, but I don’t think I'll have much time left…”

“I hope you'll manage!”

“Thanks,” Nico smiled. Lance sighed, doodling in his day planner.

“Wish I could write a dissertation on perspectives of whatever…”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I’m useless.”

“No, you’re not! You just aren’t made for business, and it’s perfectly f… Lancey?” Nico crouched down to look him in the face. “Are you kidding me?! It’s just the work, Lance, eight hours of your day – well, even less, you’re part-time – anyways, it’s just this here,” he waved his hand around the room, “nothing more, don’t you dare to cry for it, seriously! You do what you have to do, you do it well. Enough.”

“Yeah… okay.” Lance blinked back the tears. “How many times should I water her?”

“On Wednesday, but just a bit, and spray her every day. All in the morning, if you’re here. If you’re not, no problem, she’ll survive. I’ll be back on Friday.”

“Okay. You’ll find her in better shape than now, trust me.”

“I do.”

He felt like coming to the office at nine daily, even skip the lessons, just to spray that flower.

 

He woke up to find an unexpected text from 3:27.

_– Pls call me after 3pm_

It was a long wait, fairly distracting him from the lectures about international marketing. At five past three Lance pressed the call button.

“You forgot anything?”

“No, just… I was thinking… Had to find something to do, waiting for my plane,” Nico laughed. “So, this internship thing, you must do it here? I mean, at the sales or…”

“No, I guess. We chose it… Haven’t thought of it, I don’t know…”

“Think you would be better at customer support? They have…”

“What?!”

“…a vacancy. Customer service department, you know, e-mails, some phone calls, it’s chill, I have a friend there, heart of gold, she’d take care of you… I mean, it’s dynamic work, but not nearly as stressful, and way more interesting for you, I guess… Think you might like it a bit more there.”

“Y-yeah.” He had no idea what to say. It sounded good.

“So? If you want me to talk to Christian…”

“Yeah, thank you.”

“Yeah? You know what, just text me this evening or tomorrow, to confirm, can you? I don’t want you to just say _yes_ now because you think it’s nice of me. Then, if you want, I’ll tell Chris to talk to Jordá – the recruiter, that is; you settle things with your college… Just think about it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I will. Thank you.”

“No problem at all.”

“Yeah… No, thank you, really.” He already knew what he was going to tell him: one huge, loud YES. And not just because it was nice, though it really was. It was incredibly nice.

Then again, Nico was generally a nice person. No reason to read too much into it. Like, he remembered their secretary’s birthday, bringing her flowers for the occasion. He always made sure to leave his corner of the office clean and tidy, with tips and pralines for the cleaning ladies on his desk. Just the usual Nico. Unusually human in their field of work. Sure, he had a sharp edge, showing in communication with other businesspeople. But inside, he was embodied kindness. Lance just felt like a better person around him. And it was making him wonder at _how_ _exasperated_ Nico had to be to act as he was acting towards him, previously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Stoff, no fun? Sorry XD hope this was somewhat enjoyable anyways :)


	6. you’re a world away (are you happy now?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are different ways of measuring the distance. And people can be miles apart even if they live under the same roof.

“Now, this is Submariner, I’ll show you the Cosmograph Daytona tomorrow, that I have in yellow gold with green dial,” he heard familiar unpleasant voice. “Beauty beyond compare…” He walked around the corner only to find Esteban with Stoffel standing by the coffee station. The Belgian had his wrist near Ocon’s face, showing his silvery-blue watch. “But it’s really not so necessary yet now, you know, you’d look like an idiot with Rolex… Oh, look who visits us!” he spotted Lance for first.

Lance forced a smile.

“Hey there.” He let Esteban plant a kiss on his cheek and thought of how to move on without making it more awkward. It was odd enough that Esteban was passing his pause with Vandoorne, not bothering in the slightest to go see his boyfriend, and now it looked as though Lance couldn’t go through one work day without him. But he couldn’t kill it by saying he came there for Nico, neither. Although, that would just about sum up their relationship, lately. Esteban was all enchanted by his Belgian colleague, moving in his orbit pretty much all the time (Lance suspected it has gotten even worse since his move to the customer support department), and Stoffel was clearly enjoying the spotlight. He was an incarnation of the word “corporate”: emanating arrogant self-confidence in at least ten meters perimeter the way he walked, spoke, looked, suit and tie fitting him perfectly, always knowing exactly what he was doing, solving problems with astonishing calm and ease… He was from that lucky category of people born for their job. It truly was appealing. Or appalling. Depends on point of view.

“Like an idiot why?”

“Because you’d look like you gave your last money for it,” Stoffel laughed. “It shows, and it’s not nice. First rule of looking good is buy stuff you can afford and know what you are wearing. Think of for example Snowflake by Grand Seiko, it’s something like two-three, now I’m not sure, thousands less than this,” he shook his wrist, “and it’s a wonderful piece.” He was searching for it on his phone. “Look at that unique dial texture, it looks like snow… See?” He swiped a few pictures. Lance had a look, too. He saw white men’s watches. Big deal. Esteban was nodding enthusiastically.

“God, you can absolutely imagine that frosty snow surface…”

“Exactly. Now, that’s something that might suit you, I think, for the beginning… But I’ll bring that Daytona tomorrow, just so you see, it’s something completely different to see it live…”

Lance looked at his watch. Which was neither Rolex nor Grand Seiko. Not to mention he could have two of them on each wrist.

“Gotta go back, guys, sorry,” he said and wasn’t sorry at all about quitting from their annoying conversation.

“Yeah, we should probably get back to work, too,” Stoffel turned to Esteban who nodded.

“See you later, baby,” he pecked Lance once again and headed into the office. Stroll glanced at the door and with a sigh turned on his heels in direction of his new office.

 

~

 

He wasn’t sure who made the first move. It just _happened_. Like in a cliché movie scene. A very cheap movie. Accidental meeting in the lift; lips melding together softly, delicately; cold steel wall, warm palm on his neck, a hand gently holding his, hot tongue in his mouth and… there it was. He felt his guts truly painfully wrench with emotions. Those are what they call butterflies? More like small spaceships in stomach! Head spinning, knees giving up, and the lift stopped. They jumped apart a second before the doors opened and someone stepped in, eyes glued to their phone, typically oblivious to the surroundings, and for once Lance was thankful for sterility of his workplace. He was staring at the screen with floor numbers, begging them to change faster. Nine to go. What on earth did they just do? Eyeing Nico from aside, he could tell there was much going on under chilled façade, as the man pretended to type something on his phone. Basically, what all people in all lifts do. Unless they are counting down the floors. Or kissing breathlessly.

It was overwhelming. Just that he couldn’t bear the thought of breaking up with Esteban. It felt like breaking himself apart. They’ve been each other’s second half for so long. _"My better half",_  Esteban used call him. He was, indeed. They were completing each other. They once were. And they would be. All it takes is a bit of effort, no? He cannot just give up on the closest person in his life like that...

“Sorry,” Lance whispered once they were out of that claustrophobic space. “Forget this, Nico, I’m really sorry… I can’t. I can’t leave him, and I don’t want to mess around… I didn’t mean to…”

Nico, striding alongside him raised a hand.

“My bad, Lance, I’m sorry, it’s okay.”

They parted their ways coldly outside the building and Lance had a creeping feeling that this time, he seriously screwed up. That the careless laughs and private talks were over.

 

~

~

 

He hesitated for a moment, then curiosity got the better of him.

“Where are you going?” Of course, he could ask anyone and they would surely know, but asking directly was opening a possibility for some biting exchange.

“Out of your way.”

Now this was above Ocon’s wittiness. He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“He won’t pick a side while I’m around. For some reason that poor boy still loves you.” Nico moved on, followed by Esteban’s confused stare.

 

He dropped the box on Lance’s desk, stood there for a few moments, then took a clean sheet from printer and sat on the table. Tatiana, noticing his presence from behind her laptop, reckoned he was there unusually long and looked up. Nico finished whatever he was writing; he glued the paper on the back side of a framed painting and put it back into the box. He kissed two fingers, as if to swear, and traced them along the desk as he walked away. He looked around, their gazes met. Tatiana’s heart cracked a bit. Later, at the official goodbye to “their beloved ex-colleague”, all his ex-departments would overflow with compliments and wishes of all the best, but who has ever cared about him while he was there every day? Nico the rebel, Nico the entertainer, Nico the heartbreaker, smart-ass, eternally unpromoted and never really understood. Tatiana stood up. She wanted to say goodbye now, when it was sincere. Nico hugged her tight, whispered _“Take care, sweetheart,”_ in her hair, kissed her on both cheeks and adjusted her name tag. She cupped his face, looking him deep in the eyes. There lied, under a solid shield of jokes and smut, all the sorrow, all the lost innocence.

“If you wanna go, go. But don’t run away,” she said. Nico dropped his gaze, gently took her hands off his face and walked out.

~

Lance entered the door with a coffee cup and a wide smile that immediately froze. He looked around cluelessly, as if checking whether he’s in right office. Checo waved at him.

“Yeah, hi, where’s Nico?” Lance asked.

“Welcome back from under the rock," the Mexican laughed. "Nico is off to Germany.”

“Well, that’s nice, but where is all his stuff?” he motioned to the empty desk

“Lance, he’s going there for good.”

Stroll was standing there for good minute or two, then he just put the coffee on Checo’s desk and backed off. To Germany. For good. And he didn’t even bother telling him?! True, he was a bit absent lately, new work, studies and relationship mess occupying his head, but he surely wouldn’t miss _that_.

Great. Now when Lance felt like he was finally starting to understand people, this was a low blow.

 

He was going through the stuff in the box. A painting that used to hang next to the door, some CDs, a nice pyramid-shaped paper-weigh, the black-red-yellow hacky sack that Nico used to kick around the office pissing everybody off… He wasn’t sure if it was making him more sad or angry. But it was definitely both. However, he put the orchid on the windowsill and sat on the chair gazing absentmindedly at the painting. He once said he liked it, and Nico smiled a bit sadly and told him he had a good taste. Lance didn’t know it was his. There was a lonely carousel behind the curtain of rain, greyish-green silhouettes of trees in the wind on the background, and it all stirred some deep nostalgy in Lance, who would often take a while to look at it, when he still worked in the old office, and get lost rambling around that rainy park, imagining what it looked like.

He didn’t notice the clapping of high heels until Tatiana was standing in front of him.

“Sorry,” she took a hold of the frame and turned it around, “I think it was meant this way.”

Lance’s heart fell just at the sight of sharp handwriting. Words didn’t make it any better.

 

  _Lancey,_

_I’m sorry for being a chicken and leaving like this, but that’s what I am._

_Hope you’ll keep me in fond memories, despite everything._

_Be happy!!! I’ll check on that ;)_

_P.S. If you keep her, please, don’t let her die, water on Wednesdays._

_~~Yours sincerely,~~ _

_~~Nicolas Hülkenberg~~ _

_~~Ext. Sales Representative - Western United States~~ _

_Not yours anymore,_

_Nico_

 

Choked sobs made her look up from her computer. She walked over, crouched by the chair and held Lance to her chest.

“What have I done?!” he croaked. Tatiana stroked his hair. “What have I done so bad to push him half-world away? I know… I was stupid, but he… he said we were fine! And yesterday, we sat together at lunch, we… what the heck… And without a word?! I… I didn’t want to… oh my God, if he said something, I would… I would do whatever he wanted, let him be, he didn’t have to go…”

“Oh dear, may I?” she pointed at the painting. Lance nodded. She skimmed the few lines and sighed deeply.

“Stupid, stupid boys,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Who do you want, Lance?” She pulled her chair across the office and sat by.

“I…”

“And that’s exactly what you did. If you couldn’t decide, he decided for you.”

“By dumping me like this?!”

“By leaving you the option he considered the best.”

“Why?! Why would anyone do it? Fuck, he’d left everything, moved overseas, just to make me stay with Esteban, why?!”

“Because he loves you?”

“When you love someone, you want to be with him, don’t you?” And it wasn’t irony, it was a genuine question. Tatiana recalled some gossips she’d heard and understood just how ingenuous her colleague was and how disgustingly his naïve confusion was twisted.

“Of course you do. And then there is love that goes beyond anything that you want, and the only thing that matters is that your loved one is happy. With or without you.”

“I won’t be happy without him!” Lance objected louder than intended, covered his mouth and glanced around. Nobody seemed interested in their hushed conversation, but as Lance unfortunately knew, people that look the other way often absorb more than the others. Truly, he was glad he didn’t have to share the office with any of his lovers or ex-lovers, anymore. But sharing a country wasn’t that bad.

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t know…”

“You have to know, Nico isn’t one to play with. Though he looks like that. Well, you’ll see in no time.”

“But when he’s gone, he’s gone.”

“While a person is alive, he’s never really gone.”

“He won’t want me back. After what I did, and now I did it again… Fuck, what’s wrong with me?!” He looked at her, terrified. “Am I really a sl…?”

“Hush! No, you’re not. Those know very well what they are doing. You don’t and that’s your problem. You’re just too… sensitive. You want to love too much,” she laughed softly, “and you mess up. Decide who really deserves you. Your body, your mind, your soul, that’s all that you’ve got. Don’t let people play around with it. You can’t live in the past, I know it’s hard to close a chapter, to admit something has gone wrong, but you love what you miss, not what you have. And you need to understand if you two can go back to how you used to be. That’s what no one can help you with, Lance. You’ve got to figure that out yourself. And when you figured that out, do what you have to do. Even though it hurts. You’ll always have someone to help you through. I’m here,” she stroked his arm. “You’re only what? Twenty-one? Lance, you are way too troubled for your age. Live, love, laugh, breath, cry, don’t feel like you need to remain stuck where you are for the rest of your life. If the guy you love isn’t making you happy, there is something terribly wrong. Think about it.”

“I know, but… I can’t let him… I can’t just watch him become someone completely different…”

“I’ll tell you a secret, Lance: people don’t change. They only just become who they are meant to be, show their true colors with time and circumstances. Think about this, too. Forward me those mails, go get a coffee and figure out what to do with your life. You are of no use, for the moment, as I see you.”

“Are you…”

“Yes, I’m sure. No problem at all. Told you, I’m here for you, Lance. Whatever I can do for you, just hit me up.”

“Thank you. Really, Tati, thank you so, so much.” She truly was that heart of gold Nico promised him in his new department. _Nico._ He broke into mute sobs again. She stroked his hair.

“Oh, one more thing: all the love you shared, with Esteban, all the happiness, it will all stay with you, no one can take that away, but if you keep pulling on the suffering, they will slowly fade and turn bitter. Don’t let that happen. Don’t let anything ruin your memories of the good times you had, because they were real, at the time, and they have to stay real… Do I make sense?”

“Absolutely,” Lance whispered. She described perfectly the feelings he was currently having. It was about time to sort out what he felt for Esteban. Because it was far from romantic love. He couldn’t stand his touch, lately (not that Esteban tried it much, anyways), and they weren’t able to talk for more than five minutes without ending up in a discussion. Lance was _concerned_ about him, that was the right word. He was afraid to let go of him, didn’t want him to drown deeper in all that corporate bullshit. But truth to be told, Lance couldn’t do much about it, even if they stayed together.

And then there was Nico. Sweet, betrayed, forgiven for his outrageous revenge, despaired to the point of moving to Germany.

Lance decided to be the happiest guy on the face of the earth. Just that he couldn’t see how. He can at least pretend, in case Nico would really want to check on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Nico broke their vicious circle a bit radically.


	7. diamonds don’t shatter (beautiful and battered)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of diamonds and men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or what happens when a someone reads aloud horoscopes around me, and then I hear a beautiful song as if written on purpose for my story: a chapter that suddenly features too many diamonds, doesn’t move the plot forward, but hopefully gives a bit of an insight...

Sweet tune caught his ear in airport café and as he listened closely, the lyrics struck him deeper than he would ever expect any lyrics to do.

_Hello, sweet grief_

_I know you will be the death of me_

_Feel like the morning after ecstasy_

_I am drowning in an endless sea_

_Hello, old friend_

_Here’s the misery that knows no end_

_So I am doing everything I can_

_To make sure I’ll never love again_

And they were striking him over and over, as he found and downloaded the song and listened to it on the plane.

_I wish that I did not know_

_Where all broken lovers go_

_I wish that my heart was made of stone_

_Yeah, if I was bulletproof_

_I’d love you black-and-blue_

_If I was solid like a jewel_

_If I had a diamond heart,_

_I’d give you all my love_

_If I was unbreakable_

He stared through the plexiglass, tears breaking out, held back for way too long. Over all that he had sworn not to feel anymore but he did, over all the black and blue he never wanted to know.

_I’d walk straight through the bullet_

_Bendin’ like a tulip_

_Blue-eyed and foolish_

_Never mind the bruises_

_Into the fire_

_Breakin’ through the wires_

_Give you all I’ve got_

He wanted it back, the reckless trust of his blue-eyed old self from half a lifetime ago, an opened heart, so easy to stab, but so alive, strong, beating for someone, he wanted to spring up when he was bent, lick the bruises and raise his head, be a bit more unbreakable and a bit less afraid.

_Goodbye, so long_

_I don’t know if this is right or wrong_

_Am I giving up where I belong?_

_'Cause every station is playing our song_

_Goodbye, my love_

_You are everything my dreams made up_

He didn’t hold a grudge against Lance. The boy reminded him too much of how one Nico once used to be. Before he lost the courage. And he felt bad about leaving him behind like that, but he didn’t want to lie, make up reasons and excuses, because the truth was out of question.

_I’d walk straight through the dagger_

_Never break the pattern_

_Diamonds don’t shatter_

_Beautiful and battered_

_Into the poison_

_Cry you an ocean_

_Give you all I’ve got_

He would. He could give him all he had, love him like nobody else, he knew that. Maybe Lance would love him, too. But the dark side of being young and discovering the world is that one never knows what he wants. And as pathetic as it was, he wasn’t brave enough to face Lance’s search. Esteban was. He was everything that Lance’s boyish dreams made up. He wasn’t broken. Sometimes, that matters more than anything else. Nico apparently wasn’t a diamond. And Lance deserved at least a Koh-I-Noor.

 

~

 

“What’s this?”

“Oh,” Tatiana reached out, but Lance beat her to it. “That’s… just girls’ stuff,” she waved her hand.

“Horoscopes? Really?” he winced. “What does the next trimester hold for you?” he read the headline in mockingly mysterious voice and turned the list. “Strength from the heart of Earth: find your gem, find your path. Inspiring,” he quirked an eyebrow, “what is my gem? What am I…” he turned to the horoscope page, “oh, Scorpio. _Topaz_? The heck, I have no idea what it is…”

“There are pictures,” Tatiana rolled her eyes.

“They are all over the place, I can find anyth…”

“Here, this yellowish one.”

“Oh, right, thanks, now I know what to look for when I come across a gem store… It’s a powerful stone that reflects the energy of my mind, should stimulate my self-confidence and help me achieve perfection,” he ran through the description.

“See, I think it suits you.” Tatiana grasped at the paper, but Lance didn’t seem to let go soon.

“No, this is actually fun,” he pulled at it and thumbed through it to a colourful haze of red, green and blue. “Elements. What’s with them?” he skimmed the page, apparently confused. Tatiana saw it was a lost fight and took a seat next to him to have at least a look in her own magazine.

“That’s actually what I bought it for… It’s about which element you are and which you go with… Like, I am water so…”

“You aren’t water, you are human,” Lance objected.

“Oh, c’mon! That’s about the element that is dominating my personality…”

“Sounds as if you were possessed by some water demon… Or you were a mermaid, that would be really cute! A little mermaid…”

“You’re impossible,” she couldn’t stand it anymore and elbowed him to get closer to the magazine. “If only I knew what he is…” She sighed, running fingers through her hair as she was reading and rereading. “According to his sign he should be Earth, which is great, the Earth goes pretty much with everyone, but I’m not sure, there are some… characteristics that don’t quite fit, actually, looks more like fire, that would be really bad…”

Lance wasn’t further interested in the esoteric pamphlet, but the elements intrigued him in a way. _I must be Earth_ , he thought, _I go pretty much with everyone_ … _And what are they, then?_

Fire. Powerful, energic, damn hot… Glowing softly, gives you light and warms the heart but if you misjudge him, the flames go higher, close around you, consuming you, yet you are willing to burn down, if it means a few whiles in his bright blaze…

Water. Wavy, unpredictable, shaping differently depending on who he’s with. Looks calm and clear, but in turbid depths there is an unknown undertow that drags you down in the most unexpected moment and leaves you to drown… Yet you can’t live without, you only need to find the shape of him that suits you the most.

Air. No form, no colour, no smell, no taste. Nothing real. Intangible, transparent, you can’t tell what he’s made of. You come and go and know there is no trace of you lingering in the air. You still come and go because somehow, you want to take a breath, even though it burns in your lungs. Until you’re suffocated.

And then there is the Earth that everybody stomps and exploits, seeing only dirt and sources of fortune… If they cared to dig deeper, they would find true gems, topazes or whatever they are called, rough diamonds waiting for someone to cut them and let them shine. He wanted that someone so much. A particular _someone_. Done with drowning and suffocating, he wanted a flame to spark him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual astrology aside, I hope I got the elements and characters right :D


	8. (you fell through the cracks in my hands) hard to say it's over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because young love isn't everlasting love. Simply, they are already someone else's.

 

“Laance, I wanna fuuck…” Esteban pouted, kissing his neck.  _That has to be high level of frustration_ , Lance thought.

“I wanna finish the assignment on Strategic Management and have a look at the materials for the test,” he motioned his head towards a thick book and a stack of papers, adding: “You might want to as well.”

“Aah, who the fuck cares…” Ocon lied down with head in his lap. “It's all just theory, anyways. What is it for? Work is so much better… I guess I should drop out,” he said after a while. “What do you think?”

“I think it would be stupid.”

“Because?”

“Because you never know how it will go, and it's good to have some completed studies. I guess. What if you wanted to work somewhere else and they would require a Master?”

“They can go fuck themselves. If I can do it, I can do it.”

“That’s for sure. But companies have rules, employers have requirements… And then, if one day you want to set up your own business, that theory might come handy.”  _You don’t discuss this with Stoffel, do you?_  Lance thought, annoyed,  _that corporate sheep would never think of his own enterprise._  “And you can't go and fuck up your life now, just because you are lazy.”

“I'm not lazy!” Esteban lifted his head. “I'm fucking working my ass off, how dare you say I'm lazy?!” He sat up.

“You work your ass off because you like it. Laziness shows with things you don’t.”

“You know what? Fuck yourself, too. Seriously, Lance, you are my boyfriend, you should support me!”

“I support you in finishing that goddamned year and a month and graduating.”

“I've spent almost three quarters of my life in schools, I'm sick of it! Fuck, even one more year than I had to…” When he moved to the US, he did one year of language studies and just then rejoined the educational program. Which was logical and necessary and, obviously, useful, but he felt like an idiot, as it looked like he repeated a grade. “Whatever… I go to sleep.”

He went to the bathroom, slamming the door, and Lance took a deep breath. If Nico was there, he would take him out to distract him a bit. If Nico was there, he would squeeze him, tell him he’s going to do well on the test and he’ll definitely finish that assignment in time. If Nico was there… they’d be together.

Truth, however hard to face, was that they worked way better as friends with Esteban. All that they used to like about each other suddenly became annoying. His gift of cracking jokes in the most inappropriate moments seemed painful rather than funny now that they were in relationship, and Lance didn’t enjoy his manners in bed too much, neither. Esteban, on the other hand, was getting bored with his sweet nature. He needed a sparring partner, not a devoted, loving boyfriend… All in all, it didn’t make sense anymore.

 

~

 

Esteban gasped, dropped on the sofa with a mute “ _why?!_ ” in blank stare.

“Yeah, I’ve already found myself a flat,” Lance continued, fingers digging into the kitchen counter behind his back.

“Well, that’s fine, I… actually, maybe it’s for better if we’re apart,” he snapped up his head. “But we can still…”

“No, we can’t,” Lance cut in, sounding much more confident than he felt. “We can’t, because we are just completely different, each head over heels for someone else, and I… can’t see any future for us. Any bright future,” he specified.

Esteban had little to say. It was true, all of it. Just that it was so hard to let go… Lance was a certainty. And that’s always better than… uncertainty.  _Wow. So deep, Tebi._ He has been a part of Esteban’s life for nearly eight years now, he couldn’t… he couldn’t just give him up like that…  After getting what he desired and never hoped for, it didn’t feel right to throw it away. But if it’s not what he was imagining? What to do, then? A lump was crawling up his throat.

“I know,” he croaked. Lance squatted beside the sofa.

“I just want to save what’s left of us. And want us both to be happy. I’m not. You’re not. What’s the point?”

Esteban nodded. No point. There was only one thing he had to make clear.

“I… just need you to know I really meant it.”

“I know! Oh my God, I know, I meant it, too!” They both meant it. They just weren’t meant to be.

“I think… we’ve been friends for too long…”

“…to be anything else than friends. If we did this a few years ago…”

“…we could blow up the world.” Quivering voice broke in mute, shaky sobs, he squeezed his eyes. Two tears rolled down the pale face that Lance gently cupped, swiping his thumbs over wet cheeks. Esteban never was one for crying. But the fear of losing a part of him so deeply rooted was just too much. “I didn’t want to fuck us up…”

Lance pressed their foreheads together.

“We’ll be alright,” he whispered. The Frenchman nodded, gripping at his wrists; they stayed like that in silence that spoke volumes for a few minutes. No breakup sex, no goodbye kiss, no awkwardness. They were simply done.

“I’ll give you a hand with moving out,” he swallowed thickly. Lance stroked his cheek.

“You don’t have to.”

“I will.”

 

A playful fight over the tv and microwave lightened the mood, but they both cried their hearts out that night, in suffocating silence of empty flats.

Esteban couldn’t even look at the door of Lance’s room.  _“You’ll always have your place here,”_  he told Lance locking it and handing him the key. But room aside, whatever he laid his eyes on was reminding him of old times. Good times. Easy times. Sunshiny times. Lance has changed a lot since they were a couple. Got more sensitive (well, he was calling him touchy), more… emotional, and Esteban felt strangely suffocated by responsibility for him.

They shouldn’t have done it.

Maybe.

No, they should’ve.

He thought of Lance’s tears-soaked confession, of the first time they made love, of kisses tasting of mulled wine, Friday and Saturday nights out and didn’t regret. He should’ve been happy with it. Lance was a perfect boyfriend. He was…  _annoyingly perfect_. But his. Since forever and, as he thought, until forever. He had promised to show him love, to protect him, and failed miserably. He couldn’t recall when his efforts changed into just possessively snatching him from Nico. Who understood it and did the best thing he could to slap him in the face.

A small, nostalgic, kind of childish part of him was still hoping Lance would come back. The grown-up part that knew he wouldn’t, was just hoping that thing with Vandoorne was going to work out. Otherwise, he would be royally fucked.

 

Lance curled up on the sofa, as sleeping alone in a king-size bed would feel too lonely. He thought back to that talk with Tatiana and reckoned he got away just in time. Now he had all kinds of high school memories popping up, making him choke on sobs, but in a good way. In thankfulness for all the blessings he’d gotten in his life by decision of one Esteban Ocon to come study in the USA… Nothing could erase those, neither their failed attempts on romance. Love is much more than just two lovers. It’s each other’s secrets they kept, each other’s (well, Lance’s, until today) tears they wiped, it’s all the laughs until cramps in stomach, it’s their small private world they’ve been building through the years and it couldn’t just tumble down overnight. Lance meant it, he knew they were going to be alright. He just needed a bit of time to get over those last weeks, but Esteban had a special place in his heart, till the end of his days, and he was sure it was the same for the Frenchman. Maybe their love couldn’t be expressed in physical way, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there, deep and genuine. First, true and forever as young as they have left it before they would hurt each other.

 

~

 

He felt his heart sinking with every beep; if Nico didn’t want to talk to him before he left, why would he want to now? Eventually, he heard a soft  _“Yeah?”_  and forgot what he wanted to say.

“Hey, it’s Lance.” Just in case Nico has deleted his number.

“Yeah, I still can read,” came a chuckle. He hasn’t. That’s a good sign. Perhaps.

“I… uhm… Is there any way you could change your mind?” From what he understood, Nico moved to Dortmund mainly to be around for all the business regarding opening of the new branch. In Lance’s simple imagination that wasn’t anything that couldn’t be done in a few business trips.

There was silence on the other side.

“Come back, you mean?”

“Come back to me.”

Silence again. Then Nico sighed deeply.

“Look, I didn’t want to have this conversation on the phone…”

“Means you didn’t want to have it at all.”

“No, I just… Yes. I… Yes,” he whispered, defeated _. Because saying nothing hurts less than saying a “no” that I don’t mean._  “Look, I understand what you did there, when we first got together. I do, really. But call me a candy-ass pussy, I don’t think I can make it another ti…”

“We broke up,” Lance interrupted. “With Esteban. Definitively.”

Silence. He understood why Nico didn’t want to solve it on the phone. Well, he shouldn’t have left without a word.

“If it’s about the job, I get it. I mean, I wouldn’t mind the distance, I just… want you in my life, somehow, I want  _you_ , Nico.”

“I… it’s not like I can just come and go as I please, you know, I’ve got a job to do here…” He sounded tired and Lance tried to guess what time it was in Germany. Had to be middle of the night. Shit.  _Idiot_.

“Yeah, no, I know…  I’m sorry, Nico, I woke you up?”

“That’s okay, I just… can’t make fools out of people, you know. If… if you want it this way, I’ll do my best to be with you, I promise. Weekends and stuff. And I’ll figure something out, with time. But I can’t just come back now, I’m sorry, Lancey.”

“You're the last who should apologize here. Thank you, I mean for the chance, I… whenever you’re here, I’ll be here. I mean it for real this time, I swear.”

"Yeah.” He was clearly drifting off and Lance wanted to slap himself. “Listen, sweetie, can I call you in, like, four hours? So you update me a bit on what's new over there."  _Although I couldn't care less, but I missed talking to you so much._

“Of course. Good night, Nico.” He hung up and leaned back, setting the dual clock with Berlin time on lockscreen. Half past two there. _Sorry, love, won't happen again._

He could make it. Weekends, video calls, holidays…  _With Nico._  He shivered at the thought of warm body against his, strong arms circling him, wet tongue in his mouth… He has almost forgotten what it was like. And what Nico was like. He couldn’t wait to rediscover that beauty skin on skin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is any good, it was one tough writing... :(


	9. some are like water (some are like the heat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First times of kinds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stoffel screws, as promised.  
> But not only him.

He loved jogging. Just like any other physical activity, but now, he didn’t have much time left for those. Fresh air of the park cleared his head and calmed him down. For half an hour he was forgetting his day planner, and it kept him a little bit in touch with his dreamed-up life that never happened. Suddenly the song in his earphones stopped playing, there was a beep. He took a deep breath. As always.  _Don’t. It’s just a stupid notification, an offer to win a holiday for two on Bahamas for just one SMS…_ He looked at the screen.

 _\- See u next friday Lancey_ 😉

He leaned against a tree and pressed the dial icon.

“Seriously?!” he gasped.

“Absolutely. I’ll be there for a meeting, then we can do something over the weekend, what you say?”

“Oh my God… yes! Sure we can…”

“Hey, are you that excited though?” He could hear the smirk in Nico’s voice and realized he was panting. “My gosh, Lance, what are you doing there without me?!”

“Running around the park like an idiot.”

“Yeah, I’ll better be back soon…”

 

That call must have cost the last drop of patience Christian had with him. Nico basically begged him to find whatever reasons for which he, the Sales Consultant for Central Europe absolutely had to visit the headquarters at least once a month… The boss had to admit they couldn’t find a decent substitute for the Western United States in their own HR. They promoted Danny, but as he said, _“the guy has your mouth, but not your brain,”_ and they were in the middle of recruitment. Yes, they had some interesting candidates. No, they weren’t as interesting as him (here Nico could hear the eyeroll in his stern voice). To save appearances, he went on about responsibilities, development and so on, informed him that the company needed a good start, so work had to be done “over there” by their “best people”, and that basically, once Nico had signed up for it, he was doomed. Done with the monologue, Horner eventually agreed to try to get him to the US whenever possible, for leadership trainings, strategic development planning meetings and so on, one being in two weeks. _“Piss me off once more and you can ask for political asylum in Germany,”_ he concluded, and Nico could tell it was a real threaten.

Flying around was what he has always enjoyed the most about his job. Coming and going, seeing places, meeting people and taking off before he could put down roots. It was distracting him and giving him an excuse not to attach strings. The more travelling, the happier he was. Now the flights will be a bit longer, but who cares. He could live with that. Easier than living without Lance. He had called himself a hopeless idiot many times for that but couldn’t help it, he was dangerously struck. And for now, it was easier than living with him, too.

 

Stoffel summed up his reappearance with a deadpan:

“I knew they were gonna return such a gift to sender, but so soon?”

“Don’t get overjoyed, it’s just for today. Gotta check on you boys every now and then,” Nico smirked.

They only met with Lance at lunch. He locked the Canadian in friendly embrace, taking a deep breath of his scent, and pulled away before it became awkward.

“So?” he smiled. “Can I take you home when I’m through with these next three hours of bullshitting?”

Lance’s excitement was going through the roof. They had a dinner and then went to Nico’s place. It felt like a first time. It was, in a way, _their_ first time, as this time Lance wasn’t… now he couldn’t even think back to that… wasn’t thinking of Esteban. He was there, body and mind, with Nico who held him in his lap in the most beautiful position Lance could ever imagine; he was wrapping legs around his waist, while Nico was gazing up at him with a look of utter devotion, and he felt a striking connection. It was scary in a wonderful way and Lance felt so… kind of mature. And he didn’t feel such a strong need to tuck himself under the sheets and hide his face somewhere.

 _“I really don’t like myself,”_ he somehow mentioned, while they were sort of dating before all that mess, when talking about what they did and did not like, and Nico pursed his lips.

 _“Why? Those morning runs are doing you justice,”_ he laughed, _“you have real good shape, and… you know, you look a bit… different? I don’t know, but different definitely doesn’t mean bad. You have amazing eyes, really, and such a beautiful smile… So smile, Lancey, you’ve got a plenty of reasons – me being one,”_ he nudged Lance and then beat him at billiard.

 _“That’s your way of making me smile?”_ Lance pouted.

 _“This is the way,”_ Nico flipped something in the air and caught it behind his back, grinning as he held it before Lance’s eyes: a bunch of keys. _“To show you how wonderful you are.”_

It was an exciting plan, but, as Lance soon found out, hard to execute. Just the thought of getting naked was freaking him out, not to mention all the rest.

 _“Virgin?”_ Nico asked with a soft smile and it sounded nothing like mockery, and Lance nodded, because it wasn’t like he could pretend anything else, anyways, he was just clumsiness in person. _“Don’t make this face, it’s not something to get rid of, although they tell you so,”_ he said and Lance didn’t understand him at all, back then. He only wanted to be rid of that stupid label and join the society of his normal peers as soon as possible.

_“Do you want this, Lance?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Fine.”_ Nico sat with him on the sofa, kissing him slowly. _“Whatever you don’t feel like doing, don’t do it.”_ He took Lance’s t-shirt off, with a trail of kisses slid down to the hem of his jeans, unzipped them and pulled them down together with the boxers and before Lance knew what was going on, he had Nico’s mouth on… _oh dear_. He gasped for air, stiffening. The German looked up. _“Feels good?”_ he smiled and after a nod guided Lance’s hand to his hair. Lance stroked them lightly, still not quite believing it was happening.

As Nico felt the grip on his fringe tightening, he pulled away and straddled his soon-to-be lover.

 _“Undress me, baby,”_ he whispered and chuckled as Lance’s trembling fingers fumbled with the belt buckle. _“Hey, keep calm, Lancey,”_ he held his hands. _“We don’t have to do it.”_

_“No, I… I want to, really.”_

_“Okay. Come on, then_ ,” he unbuckled the belt himself and wriggled out of his clothes. It was a first time any guy could only wish for. Respectful, gentle, and so… loving. Lance truly hated himself for that night. And the more he was trying not to think about it now, the worse he felt. It started in the lift to Nico’s classy flat, continued as they were making out on the sofa, and when they got to bed, the guilt hit its peak.

“I’m yours, Nico, just yours, love,” he gasped, clinging to him as if his life depended on it, and Nico shifted. Lance unwrapped his limbs from around him, the German shook his head.

“No, hold on, baby.” He sat up, cross-legged, cradling Lance to his chest. “I know you are. I know. Get over it, I did.”

The fact he knew what Lance was referring to hurt even more. But he was right. And they had so little time together that they really shouldn’t waste it on regrets. Not now, when he was rolling his hips subtly on Nico’s lap, losing himself in that blue gaze when they weren’t kissing. It was slow, astounding and it almost made Lance’s heart stop, feeling Nico shudder in his arms, in him… He still couldn’t see how such a man – honest, funny, handsome as hell, smart, successful and so… worldly, fell for him, but believed it every inch. Believed him. Loved him. And told him so many, many times that night.

 

~

 

“My fuck, you are so… lanky, can you even handle anything?”

“I’m here to find out.”

Raised eyebrows furrowed in realization, Stoffel crunched up his nose.

“No, are you serious?”

“What?”

“I’m not doing this, you’ll get attached.”

“I won’t.”

“That’s what you say now.”

“You are a bit too wrapped up in yourself. Show me a retard that would get attached to you.”

“Whatever. Come here, then,” he tapped on the table. Ocon walked over, hesitantly. Stoffel bent him over, undid his pants and pulled them down. “Just relax,” he said with a sound of lube sachet being ripped in the background. Esteban nodded. A hand ran up and down his spine and rested on his lower back. A slick finger pushed into him, startling him a bit, but it wasn’t too uncomfortable. “You never wanted to try this, before?”

“I don’t know, it just… I never thought of it, I was only with Lance and…”

“Oh, I see, he’s the bottom of all bottoms,” Stoffel laughed. “Okay?” he asked as he added second finger. Esteban nodded again. The thought of Lance with Vandoorne unsettled him more than he would’ve liked. What on earth is he doing? The remaining drop of morality must have left his body with the last night jerk-off… He concentrated on the sensation instead. Slow, steady movements were somehow calming and exciting at the same time. “Think you’re ready?” Stoffel’s oddly-pitched voice, absolutely not fitting his whole persona, broke the silence, and Esteban gave only the notorious nod, lost for words. “Alright. Relax, and if it hurts, just tell me, clear?”

His first reaction to burning stretch was instinctively to move forwards, but there was only the table, and the feeling of being trapped sent a jolt of panic through him. He gasped, clenching his fists. Stoffel froze.

“What’s up?” he asked. The Frenchman shook his head.

“Nothing, just give me a second…”

“Take it easy, we’ve got time. Something like… ten minutes,” Stoffel snorted. “Sorry, I didn’t… count all the prep in. But it’s fine, don’t push yourself.”

“You’re pushing me enough,” he mumbled. Stoffel leaned closer.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

“I am pushing you? You wanted it yourself!”

“I know.”

“And now you don’t.”

“No. I mean… yes. I do. Just… can you give me a bit of space?”

“A… space? Oh. Oh, sure.” He stepped back. “You could just say it right away, you know. Fine like this?”

“Yeah, go on…”

A hand on his lower back, another gripping at his hip – the image flashed before his eyes of Stoffel performing that mocking thrust on Lance. Apparently, this was his only position.

“Fuuck,” Vandoorne breathed out, trying hard to keep the rhythm low, “fucking fuck, you’re so fucking tight…”

And dirty talk vocabulary seemed about as rich as the variety of positions. Hard to tell where that air of a mind-blowing lover was coming from. But Esteban could clearly recall Lance being pretty mind-blown, and Jolyon had to have a reason, too, for letting Stoffel treat him like he did. He couldn’t help it himself, neither. It was irrational, but real: Stoffel had a mad sex-appeal.

“Fuuck yeah,” he groaned, thrusting Ocon against the table, and the latter didn’t complain this time, too fascinated by the feeling of the cock throbbing inside of him. It lasted short, though. After just a few heavy breaths Stoffel pulled out and slapped his butt lightly. “You did well,” he said, while tossing the condom and wetted tissues and zipped up, “sorry about you but I really need to go…” He handed Esteban his suit, grabbed the briefcase, collected some papers from the table, and the Frenchman wondered at how he could be so… _collected_ himself. He used to be pretty switched-off after the climax. Stoffel turned to him on the threshold.

“Don’t you dare to think of me when you go to sleep.”

“Don’t worry, I get more than enough of you here during the day,” Esteban smirked.

“Very well. See you then,” the Belgian gave him a wave as he walked down the hallway, energic, head held high, for a talk with the sales managers. The smirk fell; holding the suit at his front, Ocon went straight for the toilet. Pathetic as he was, he jerked himself imagining the palm pressing at his back and that wavy _fuuck yeah_ …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy for Lance finally being happy? :))


	10. (don’t get too close) it’s dark inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance figures out his future.  
> Esteban gropes in the obscure present. Because there’s this unfortunate habit of people in love that believe they would be “the one” to change their crush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I’ve spent way too much time editing this, I just post it and hope XD  
> Apologies for being gross at some point...

Resisting the temptation to spit the cum on Stoffel’s shiny polished shoes, he took two steps to the trash bin and leaned on the desk with expectant look.

“I don’t have time, Esteban,” Stoffel waved him off.

“Are you kidding me? It’s a minute…”

“You had, like, ten minutes to get yourself off anytime.”

“Son of a bitch,” Esteban shook his head with a snort.

“Oh, I am," Stoffel laughed. "Look, you want me to fuck you, I fuck you, you want to suck me, you suck me, I don’t…”

“Oh, so you’re doing me a favour, basically.”

“Well, you came to me for first, it’s not like I have nowhere else to go.”

Esteban bit hard at his tongue, a split second of hurt hidden from the world, and he kept the nonchalant look.

“How am I compared to the rest?” he cocked his head.

“Well, that can be compared on different levels,” Stoffel smirked, leaning back. Suddenly he had time, interesting. “I’m not sure if you wanna know, though.”

“Is it that bad?”

“No. Quite good, actually. You just seem that kind of guy that doesn’t want to listen about his boyfriend’s ex, and this is much worse, I’d say.”

“Is it?”

“If I tell you that I got one fucking amazing head yesterday, how does it feel?”

“Where?”

“Does it change anything?”

“Not really.”

“See? Don’t dig into this, it won’t do you any good. Take it as it is or let go.”

“How are you living like this?”

“Like what?”

“So… empty.”

“I’m full of myself, isn’t that enough?”

Esteban had to crack up at that. Stoffel curled up a corner of his mouth, too.

“Look, if you want me, come, if you don’t, don’t.”

The Frenchman nodded and left. Indifference of that last sentence killed him.

Yet he wasn’t letting go.

He went down on Stoffel in the bathroom three days later and spent good five minutes sitting on the toilet lid, hating him for existing, hating himself for getting turned on like an idiot, hating the Earth for spinning when he felt like shit.

Still, he wasn’t letting go.

_A day will come when you’ll come begging me, you bastard. And this won’t cost you cheap._

 

~

 

“Eat it,” Lance said firmly. Esteban kept chasing pieces of meat around the plate with his fork. He knew that he was being stupid, that Vandoorne wasn’t any worth it, but his stomach didn’t really ask. “Eat that fucking food, Esteban,” Lance shook his shoulders. He stuffed himself, not even realizing the taste, and after a while stiffened. The Canadian eyed him knowingly. “Sit there and don’t you dare,” he hissed. Esteban took a sip of soda, swallowing the watery saliva. Oh, those years of being roommates, best friends, weren’t for nothing. Lance knew him all too well. “What’s happening?” he leaned closer. Esteban tried to remember why the hell he let him go. For that Belgian wanker? Seriously? _Here you go, get what you deserve, Tebi. He is happy with the guy that respects him, cares for him, loves him, although stuck somewhere in Germany. You get fucked well and that’s it._  He clutched a hand to his belly.

“You’d been there,” he muttered. Although he wasn’t, really. Because at the time Lance was messing up with Nico and Vandoorne, he was in love with _him_. Which makes difference.

“Where exactly?”

“Under Stoffel.”

“Are you… crazy?!” Lance facepalmed. He didn’t think Esteban would seriously take his ridiculous crush that far. “Oh God, how… could you? Esteban, he’s fucked up!”

“Yeah. That’s exactly the problem… I know and I fucking hate that fucking fucker,” he slammed his fist against the table to emphasize the words, realizing at the back of his head that he even _sounds like him_ , “but I want him so bad… And he’s gonna want me as well.”

“Don’t. Please. Let it be before you sink in too deep.”

“Too late.” When Esteban Ocon wanted something, he really _wanted_ _it_. And he was determined beyond measure. That got him the job of his dreams in the land of his dreams, and it would get him the man of his dreams as well. Of his hazy, wet, dirty, restless dreams.

If the story with Lance hasn’t taught him a lesson about curiosity that killed the cat, he needed another one. Cats have nine lives, after all.

 

~

 

Maybe it was violation of privacy, but he just couldn’t bear it on his own and spilled it out on skype that night. Nico raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise.

“They… are you sure?”

“Well, I can’t see why he would make it up. He’s wrecked.”

“True. No… Wow. Tell him… Oh. You’ve already told him.”

“Yeah, he… he thinks Stoffel cares for him.”

 The German bit his lip.

“He can _care_ for someone," he pointed at himself, "look at the proof. The question is whether he can commit sexually and about that, I have no idea at all. I can’t imagine it, to be honest. Like, wanna make Stoffel roll on the floor laughing? Tell him about _love_. He will tell you it’s some stupid thing from girly movies, a fancy patch on an ugly, worn-out piece of cloth that are the relationships, a word that people use to seem happy and fulfilled in them, but truth is, the only thing that can make you complete is _you_. No one else. What satisfies you are your success, your achievements, if we come back to where this started: your orgasms. No one else’s. If he believed in love, he would love himself. But I doubt he does even that.”

“What… what’s wrong with him?!”

“I don’t know," Nico shook his head, buttoning up his shirt, “it’s his brains that are fucked. Pun absolutely intended. He… he just likes to come. A lot. Blows off the steam, resets his brain – which he truly needs, but hasn’t found other ways, yet, and this is quick and efficient, and at the same time he can show his… contempt? Whatever you call it, it’s like, _I treat you like shit and you still go on your knees for me? Here you go_ – and leaves those guys behind, used and tossed, without a second glance, over and over. Because they do. A maneater doesn’t only have to be a woman, Stoffel is an example of one. Like, sex-obsessed girl are nymphos, right? I don’t know about a name for orgasm-obsessed control freaks, but they should call them _stoffos_.”

Lance was staring agape in horror, tucking the question gnawing at him since he knew Nico into the back of his mind. He considered inquiring about "you before me" embarrassing.

 _Can any normal person_ , Nico pondered while tying the bow, _especially one like him, shivering at the slightest touch, understand how_ _it’s possible not to feel anything more than a release?_ He thought back to that evening at his place, Stoffel sprawled next to him on the sofa, crunching some nuts and gazing mindlessly at the tv show neither of them was paying attention to, but it was creating a background to their talks which wouldn’t flow so smooth in complete silence. He was shifting every now and then, chewing a bit nervously. And suddenly he slid a hand in his pants and glanced at Nico.

 _“We’re guys here, any problem?”_ he asked, mouth full of nuts, and the German, too stupefied to react, missed his moment; Stoffel jerked himself off in matter of two minutes, eyeing the television where some celebrities were making their way through an inflatable obstacle course. “ _What a bunch of pathetic idiots,”_ he sighed as they were shown stumbling and sliding into the water, _“how can anyone lose their self-esteem to the point of becoming famous?!”_ And then just pressed his lips together, squeezed his eyes for a moment and wiped his hand in some tissues lying on the table, licked at it, wiped again, stuck the tissues in his boxers to clean up, and zipped the jeans. _“Sorry, but I couldn’t focus on you… So, you were saying? About this jackass teammate,”_ he reminded and reached for the bowl of nuts. The shared bowl of nuts. _“Oh, don’t worry, I’m as clean as… anything very clean you can imagine,”_ he winked, taking a handful. Nico knew, and as absurd as it all was, he wasn’t even bothered as much by the fact that Stoffel has just impudently gotten himself off on his couch, as by his comment. He would understand a mutual jerk-off, a fit of exhibitionism, anything, let’s be honest, who hasn’t done any of those at some point? Well, Nico surely had, in his remote teen years. He was far from prudery. But this… this just went to show Stoffel had no sense of intimacy _at_ _all_. Who on Earth thinks about the tv show as he comes?! That was when he realized something was definitely wrong with his young colleague. He didn’t write Stoffel off, though. And didn’t call him out on it. He just got him a blanket and his own bowl with nuts the next time he came (as in “came to his place,” that is). He got the message through: Stoffel smiled unusually warmly, seeing he was accepted for what he was, and kept himself from repeating the act, in change for courtesy.

“How can you stand him?” Lance shook his head slowly.

“I don’t even know, believe me,” Nico laughed. Too hard to explain to himself, let alone someone else. Absolutely let alone Lance. "I just don’t stick my nose in his private life. As for Esteban _…_ I send my greetings and tell him not to lose his time."

“I will pass that. And uhm _…_ Nico, do you have a minute left?”

Tense tone stopped him from lacing his shoes.

“Sure, love, I have time, what is it?”

He saw Lance significantly saddened, as the Canadian gave him a summary of Carmen’s speech marking the upcoming end of his nine-month internship. It went along the classical lines of _no, you’re ours, Lancey, you can’t leave us like this, we’re a team, one for all, all for one, we need you, we’ll miss you, blah blah blah_ …

“Look,” he leaned against the shoe cabinet, “you can think as much as you want about it, but, just so you know, if she had a better offer, she’d leave the next minute. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Lance, I know it all looks so nice, but truth is, these people are flat. She’ll go, there will be smiles and tears, mostly fake, and the next day she’ll walk into her new office to make new sister and brothers, and that goes for everyone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying they don’t really like you, some actually do, but still it’s not worth it. Because if this isn’t something you want to do for a living, then staying because of anything else is just completely wrong. I’m not making your decisions,” he raised his hands, “just adding a point for your consideration.”

Lance nodded, chewing on his lip.

“Thank you.” He really appreciated the point. Carmen had left him all confused and unsure, but Nico sounded reasonable. He had ten years of life experience over Lance and shared them in a very humble way. He would always find time for a calm conversation, listen patiently to what Lance himself considered childish ramblings without ever derogating him, extract the main point of them and have his say on it, and leave Lance to draw conclusions relying on his common sense, as he often underlined: _“You’re a smart boy, Lancey, I know you’ll do it right.”_ Sometimes Lance did, sometimes he didn’t, and he stopped kicking himself up about it too much, because the past months have taught him one fundamental lesson: that people make mistakes. They pay for them and they learn from them but shouldn’t drag them along.

 

Yet, he decided to stay. For that simple reason that he had nowhere to go. Esteban, obviously, was also staying, he had Tati next to him in the office, and that was still way more that whatever would expect him anywhere else.

By the way, the customer support was indeed more exciting than invoices and quotations…

This was fine. One more year of part-time till he graduates, and he can fully enter the work life.

Business life.

Because that’s what he wants to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These boys just like to mess up their lives...
> 
> Outside the racing world, I looked around me and found another background to Esteban’s pitiful body built... Yeah, I am monotonous, I’m sorry, but... he just asks for it :(


	11. i never meant to start a war (i just wanted you to let me in)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Esteban gets all wrapped up in his intrigues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God, my mathematics have gotten quite rusty since the school years, hope I didn’t mess the sets theory up too badly... apologies to anyone smarter than me who might find it offensive :/ But I wanted it there for Stoffel’s way of "feeling" things

“What the hell, I didn’t think you could get even skinnier than you were,” Stoffel snorted, then turned serious. “Hey, you aren’t sick or anything, right?”

“Aren’t you?”

“What? Why?!”

“Oh, I don’t know who you fuck…”

“Whoa, wait! I don’t really… fuck much, actually, I get my dick sucked, that’s a bit different. And I’m not, and anyways, I didn’t mean  _that_ , just… are you okay?”

“You won’t catch anything, don’t worry.”

“Have I asked you? Fuck, Esteban, answer the question: are you okay?!”

“No, I’m not! Now, can we move on?”

Stoffel blinked. He stroked the bony spine, grazed his fingers over the ribs palpable under the shirt and shook his head.

“We can’t.”

“What?”

“I’m not doing this, Esteban, you… get better and then we can move on.” Sarcastic laughter cut through him.

“I’m not that  _fucking pretty_  anymore, huh?” Ocon adjusted his clothes and put the suit on. It made him look a bit less skeletal.

“It’s not that, you stupid fucker!” Stoffel snapped. “You are. You are too pretty to be true,” he added after a while. Esteban turned, hand on the doorknob. “What’s wrong with you?” Stoffel tried for one last time.

“So are you,” was the only answer, his question ignored. The doors clicked closed and he fell into the chair, tugging at his hair. What the fuck… Lance would surely know, but there was no way they would have that kind of talk. Maybe he could ask Nico to find out. Yeah, that might work.

 

~

 

“Is anybody working here, or you all come here for a group therapy?” Stoffel hit the mouse against his desk. “Who the fuck cares, Grosjean?!”

“Chill out, man,” the Swiss, who was telling some colleagues about how he was planning to take the kids on a boat trip on Sunday, shook his head. “Not my fault if you can’t focus.”

“Oh?! You know what, learn to talk back to your wifey first, then try it with me, poor henpecked mope,” Stoffel crooked a smile. Romain cleared his throat and returned to his work. Checo rolled his eyes to the heavens:

“God bless you, Nico, where you at?”

“Where you will never get,” Stoffel retorted, “because it’s a responsible job.” He was insufferably nasty those days. And now that the German wasn’t there to take the edge off, tyranny ensued. Eventually, Checo had enough of it.

“Oh, don’t act like you’re a god of sales!” he snorted. “Your famous reports and previews are a pile of bureaucratic crap, Mr. Analyst. Actually,  _analyst_  derives from  _analyzing_ , not from  _anal_ , has anyone told you when you applied for this job?”

That was gross and not really fair, but there was some truth to it. Stoffel’s job involved a lot of needless bureaucracy. Then again, that could be said about any of his coworkers. Checo earned some good laughs and raised thumbs and Vandoorne stared at his computer, lost for reply. Esteban stared at him.  _It doesn’t take that much to shut him up,_  he thought a bit surprised. Just to strike back.

 

He had his chance to try it soon.

“Geez, Jo,” Stoffel rolled his eyes as the Brit walked past him, “I know one can’t ask too much of you, but could you at least dress like you haven’t just climbed out of the trash bin after a week? There are people that must look at you, you know.”

Jolyon involuntarily looked down at his striped shirt of horribly unfashionable colour, truly quite wrinkled, hanging on him like on a straw man, pulled at it as if it could make it fit better, and Esteban felt his blood boil. He wanted Jolyon to stand up for himself so much but knew he wouldn’t. He reminded of Lance, in a way, and Esteban got used to standing up for Lance throughout the high school.

“Look at yourself, too, you don’t even have clothes to wear on casual Fridays,” he chuckled. “Actually, isn’t this the same one shirt you just wash and iron every night?”

Stoffel turned to him, confusion in wide green eyes ( _so beautiful, if they weren’t that cold_ , Esteban thought despite himself).

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he reminded, but it lacked the sharp edge.

“You shouldn’t talk to anybody. My wise grandma used to tell me: if you don’t have anything nice to say, better keep quiet.”

And Stoffel kept quiet. Not because he had nothing nice to say, obviously, but with people laughing at him all around, he had nothing pungent coming to mind, neither.

 

“Hey, Jo,” Esteban stopped by at the diner, “I think light grey without the pattern would suit you just fine. And, like, two sizes smaller,” he laughed. “I know it’s depressing to see those thirty-something numbers, but that’s just how we’re built…”

Jolyon looked up with a disarming smile and Esteban eyed his fingers with eaten nails and skin around them.

“Think so? Well, looking at you, you might know what you’re talking about…”

“See, I don’t think I’ll ever have your brain, but you can have a bit of my style, that’s easier to achieve,” he smirked. “Light grey, dark blue, those kinda shades to match your eyes. Wine red might look good as well, if you wanna strike hard…”

He hoped that being kind to Jolyon would ease his conscious for liking that bastard a bit too much.

 

~

 

He hasn’t found out anything, Nico told him to communicate like normal people do. Vandoorne flipped him a finger which the German unfortunately couldn’t see, informed him that he was perfectly normal and didn’t need anything from anyone, anyways, and hung up without a bye.

“C’mon, just talk to me,” he forced out in spare time, when everybody disappeared for a coffee or toilet and they were left alone.

“About?”

 _About anything._  They were getting a bit awkward, lately. Stoffel didn’t like it at all. He kind of missed their diner chats.

“About you.”

“Well, I was born in Évreux, it’s a small little town in Normandy… On seventeenth of September, if you might wanna buy me flowers, I especially love the lilies…”

“Drop it.”

“What?”

“I wanna know what’s up with you.”

“You care like this for all the guys that suck your dick, or am I somehow privileged?”

“You’re not a guy that sucks my dick, I thought you knew that.”

“And what am I, then? A guy you fuck? That’s prestigious, from what I’ve heard… What am I?"

"You,” Stoffel said after a pause.

"Wow. Discovery of the year." Esteban got up to go get a coffee, too, oblivious to the split second between two blinks that Stoffel’s eyes lingered on him before he ran a hand through his hair and put it under his chin, scrolling down his weekly review.

Esteban knocked back an espresso, a corner of his mouth curling up in shadow of a smirk. Turning his rage and distress against Stoffel, watching him try, felt so satisfying. It takes a bit of a cold bastard to get under the skin of a cold bastard. And using your weakness as a weapon is the only way of not breaking down, he had learned that over the years. He wasn’t starving himself on purpose, but if he couldn’t do anything about it, he discovered an advantage so that he suffered less.

 

~

 

“How are you?” Stoffel greeted him.

“Fine, thanks, and you?”

“This is not a small talk, I am asking how you are.”

“Yeah, and I’m asking the same: how is your sight, lately?”

Stoffel sighed.

“Not really perfect, to be honest. If I end up wearing glasses, I’m gonna shoot my head… But yeah, I still can see you had better days, so would you mind telling me what your problem is?”

“Why, I think glasses would fit you. Make you look more serious, you know. Maybe get you promoted, even. Looks matter…”

“Fuck, does the Guinness Book of Records have one for avoiding the answers? You must have beaten it in one single week…”

“You’re asking too much,” Esteban shrugged. “Don’t dig too deep, it won’t do you any good.” With that he turned his back at him, filling in the quotation form. Stoffel blinked.

“Learning quickly.”

This cold, bitchy Ocon was unfamiliar, unsettling and enticing, but most of all he was right. It wasn’t doing any good to Stoffel. Yesterday, while watching porn, he caught himself thinking of that skinny frame and clever eyes losing their sparkle, instead of masturbating. The end is upon him, no doubt…

Whatever, his shit is his shit, Stoffel has his own to deal with. Monthly review, precisely. But he didn’t get far from Esteban with that. Looking at the sales numbers, his mind drifted to different mathematics.

They were sets. Set S and set E. He expected a union, at first. S ∪ E. He immediately got that vibe from Esteban of force, of dominant personality, he believed they would get along well.

Then he realized that set E had a complement EL. L as in lame, limp, lousy, lazy Lance. He couldn’t understand that Esteban was wasting himself with such a joke of a guy for a friend and… heavens have mercy… boyfriend?! But he could live with that. Nobody’s perfect. Except for him, of course.

Still, they could have an interjection. S ∩ E. At least at work. He saw a future colleague in Esteban. Quickly understanding how everything worked, passionate, determined, had potential to develop the ability to see behind the corner, beyond what was lying in front of him now. Stoffel wanted to help him with that, because finding a capable man for their business is gold. And he would have a competition. A  _worthy_ competition. Surely, Jolyon was smart, but he wasn’t anything else. And didn’t want to compete at all. Stoffel could tell that Esteban would.

But the interjection got out of hand. He didn’t even think it would be possible, he would never expect him to bottom. The problem was, Esteban wasn’t  _submissively_  bottoming. Even on his knees, choking on Stoffel’s cock, even laid there on the desk, rocking back against the thrusts, he stayed in charge and never showed signs of being anything less than he was: a man Stoffel was prone to respect. Esteban was breaking his schemes, and the Belgian didn’t know what to do with it. With him. But he liked the thrill. So he just fucked and watched their sets drifting apart.

But at least Esteban wasn’t having any feelings for him. Thank God, in whom Stoffel didn’t believe.

He believed in hard work that pays off, people who know what they want and sex that doesn’t mean anything more than it should, which is nothing.

 

~

 

Unmistakable sounds almost made him gag, too.

“Whoa, what do we have for lunch?” he called over standing by the urinal. “Should I even go there?”

There was only silence on background of the peeing sound and Stoffel got concerned.

“Hey, whoever you are,” he pulled up the zip and walked past the toilet cubicles, trying the door, “you okay there, man?” Nothing. “C’mon, it’s not funny,” he jerked the handle, then crouched down to have a look under the door, and just as he did, the door clicked open and hit him in the head. Not hard enough to make him hallucinate, though, so it had to be real. It was making perfect sense, after all. No, it wasn’t. It just clicked together. He stood there dumbstruck, and Ocon, covering his mouth and avoiding his gaze, waited patiently to be allowed to leave.

“You… wait. No. Seriously?! What…”

“Stoffel,” he just sighed pleadingly, eyes on the wash basin.

“Oh. Right.” He finally stepped out of his way; Esteban washed his mouth for what seemed like eternity, then downed a few gulps of water and leaned on the basin, defeated.

“Well, now you know what’s with me.”

“No, I don’t, actually, what the…”

“My nerves and my guts teamed up against me, enough?” He drank some more, and he almost felt like crying. It was a bit too much even on him. He was used to pain, to sickness, from exam sessions or… well, only the exam sessions, basically, he didn’t stress himself for much else, but that didn’t last for weeks. This just went on for too long. He shouldn’t have let it get this far: it felt like his stomach had wrinkled to the size of a plum and it hurt as hell if he tried to get something in there, but if he didn’t want to look suspicious in the diner, he had to eat at least the lunches, and all the pasta and meat with potatoes were literally killing him.

“Ah, my dear, learn to deal with it if you really mean it here,” Stoffel sighed, relieved. “Stress is life…”

Esteban shook his head.

“It’s not that.”

“What, then?”

“Just one prick I know.”

“What’s with him? I’ll go punch the shit out of him, just tell me…”

“I’d love to see that,” Esteban pulled him in front of the mirror. “You’re more than welcome.”

Stoffel froze to the spot, staring at his clueless reflection.

“How is this about me? What have I done?! Fuck, no…” He squeezed his eyes shut, recalling the  _“don’t dig into it”_  sentence thrown back at him. And the _"what am I, a guy you fuck?"_  sentence. And all the other things he ignored, because it was more convenient to listen to Esteban joking, calling him names, claiming he would never get attached to him. Seriously, how could he be so shamefully blind?! A beast at analyzing, they call him… “If it’s for what I said, about the other guys, I never meant to hurt you, but you deserved to know…”

Esteban nodded.

“I know now, thank you.” Without giving him a second glance, he went for the exit.

“What do you want from me?!” Stoffel called out. “You said you wouldn’t… this wasn’t fair! I never promised you anything, Esteban, what the fuck did you expect?”

“Nothing. That’s all one can expect from you, right? That’s what I got. Cause you are nothing yourself.”

“Say it again?!”

“You’re  _nothing_ , Stoffel. Nothing, an empty shell that for some reason thinks is something more than all the others. I’ve got news for you: you’re not. You’re nowhere near Nico, Checo, Romain… They all do their job and they do it well, and still live like normal people,  _feel_  like normal people…”

“So, I’m not normal, deal with it,” Stoffel shrugged, voice on the edge of tremble and Esteban wanted so much to push him off that edge, to make him lose his cool at least once in all his life… Stoffel walked to the exit. Without even trying to oppose, to defend himself, and it struck Esteban more than anything else. He clearly hit some sensitive spot and he was dying to find it and smack it as hard as he could.

“No, you’re definitely not," he scoffed and followed his tracks. "You’re sick, and you should do something about it."

"I’m not sick," Stoffel turned sharply, hardly containing himself. "Don’t you dar..."

"Oh, that’s why you force yourself on guys that just can’t say  _no_."

“What?! Oh, your new friend Jolyon... No, I just do what he wants, what they all want, they…  _they_  are nothing!” There it was: Stoffel raised his voice to unusual volumes, where it was cracking nervously. “Pathetic needy good-for-nothings, they would chase me down the whole Manhattan for five minutes on my cock! They should thank me, actually, cause no one else cares about their sorry asses! I’ve never forced myself on anyone, I really don’t need that… Look at your sweetheart – he was so desperate to get laid, he got laid more than enough, what is he complaining about now?! And I tell you, he was enjoying every second of it…”

“First, don’t bring Lance in this. Second, maybe they enjoy it physically, but…”

“Well, that’s what sex is, isn’t it? Don’t believe those puppy-eyed innocent boys, they want it just as bad as anybody else, if not more… Actually, more, horny and frustrated as they are. If they didn’t like it, they wouldn’t be doing it. They do. Fucking eagerly,” he laughed.

“The problem is that’s not  _everything_  they want.”

“Well, that’s none of my business! That’s everything they get. They know what they’re signing up for, end of the story. Just like you knew. Don’t try to rub it in my face. And leave me alone now, would you? I’ve got stuff to do.”

“Gladly.”

Ocon went his way, bubbling with rage. Stoffel was partly right, of course. He never played him, it was Esteban who just assumed it could go any other way. He was almost ashamed of it now.

_Sick. Disgusting sick bastard. That’s what he is._

Yet, that pale face and slight tremble in lips kept popping up before his eyes. Just like the look of genuine horror when he saw Esteban walk out of that toilet and later when he faced himself in the mirror. He had a piece of heart, somewhere deep inside.

He couldn’t shake off the feeling that Stoffel was hiding something beneath that tough figure. And that he was losing grip. And he had just shouted out more than he probably wanted.

Recent observations proved one fundamental thing: as much as he despises the weak, he is  _afraid_  of the strong. Of confrontations with people who fight back or attack him, because  _he_   _can’t_   _fight_ _back_ , doesn’t know how. That’s the reason or consequence (Esteban didn’t know yet) of him going for the shy, quiet and, he said it right, horny kind of boys. To prove his dominance over someone who won’t question it, and surely won’t refuse him.

Esteban did question it, more than once, and nothing happened, apart from Stoffel losing the ground under his feet for a moment. Still, the Belgian was hanging around – unlike with Checo whom he tended to avoid since that anal joke.

He licked his lips, smiling at his reflection. Neither pathetic nor needy, he wasn’t going to run after Stoffel anymore. Not that blatantly, that is. Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t seduce him with every move he makes and every breath he takes.

Now that he saw Vandoorne wasn’t all that untouchable, he felt a new spring of hope he could carry out his plan: break him to pieces, dust him to the ground, and then mercifully pick him up. Maybe, if he deserves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s going to get moving, from now on ;)


	12. (we kissed, i fell) under your spell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much going on here, just that maybe, Esteban has found a way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The French line is there to do justice to Stoffel’s knowledge of French :D but mainly because it is what the phrase would be in my mother tongue, more than the English one XD

He frowned at the small _Fri_ next to the date. Not the usual facial expression people have on Fridays. The last work day, basically the first day of the weekend, casual clothes, talks about the plans for free time… For Stoffel, weekend was two days of boredom and wasted time. And he couldn’t care less whether he had jeans and polo shirt or his usual office outfit on. But suddenly too many people were implying he wasn’t normal, and he didn’t like it in the slightest. Especially not from Esteban. He returned to the bedroom and swung the wardrobe open. There were hanging in a neat row many truly similar… let’s be honest, _alike_ off-white dress shirts. Mentally cursing himself, he disregarded them and went through piles of t-shirts.

 

He raised some eyebrows, which he usually enjoyed, but this wasn’t exactly his way.

The receptionist smiled as if she didn’t know she had no chance whatsoever. Maybe she didn’t know, Stoffel didn’t care.

Checo, who walked into him talking on the phone, stopped talking for a moment, clearly confused by new figure in the office, and when he put the head and body together, just nodded at him and went on.

“Well, fuck me,” Danny gasped, perplexed, as he looked up from his computer.

“In your dreams,” Stoffel scoffed.

Esteban kept the smirk for himself. He couldn’t take his eyes off the Belgian. So, it is possible to pull his strings. Not just possible, it’s even quite easy… White sneakers, black wash jeans and white v-collar t-shirt, all tight in all the right places. He looked tense. And breathtaking. And when their eyes met, Esteban noticed something like a dare in them: _normal_ _enough_?

 

“Now that’s a good start,” he smiled joining Stoffel on the way to the break room. “Highly fuckable, if you want my opinion.”

He took his time choosing the outfit that day, too. They haven’t approach each other since the last week discussion, but from the looks Stoffel was giving him not as subtly as he probably wanted, he could tell the Belgian wasn’t missing only their talks.

He sat up on the kitchen counter, legs apart, and licked his lips. Stoffel took a breath and cast his eyes on the pouring coffee. “Get me one as well, thanks,” Esteban handed him his mug, and Stoffel inevitably had to glance his way. Their fingers brushed, the Belgian gulped and put it in the coffee machine.

“Which…”

“Cappuccino,” Esteban said in sensually hushed voice. Stoffel pressed the button and went to put sugar in his espresso shot. And Esteban noticed that the jeans were getting a bit too tight in certain parts. “Look at me,” he demanded, and after a few hesitant seconds he was met with a look of raw desire.

_Oh yes? “If you want me, come?” Because you don’t want me at all, right, Stoff?_

“Come here,” he spread his legs wider and leaned back on his hands. And Stoffel stood there like a lost schoolboy and didn’t move. Eventually, he took Esteban’s cappuccino and cleared his throat.

“Sugar?”

“I said come here,” Esteban narrowed his eyes and slid from the counter, “but if you don’t…” He walked over, placed the mug down and pushed Stoffel up the fridge door, stroking his chest, nipples hard under the soft white fabric, and Stoffel just watched him with that fight-or-kiss tension building up. Eyes dropping often to Esteban’s mouth, he didn’t look like he wanted to punch it. _Well, no wonder,_ Esteban thought smugly, knowing what his lips were worth, and pursed them very subliminally, leaning closer. Now he was trapping the Belgian, hands on the fridge by his sides, bodies touching. Stoffel was holding his breath and for some reason it occurred to Esteban that he has never done this, before. He felt a tickle in his stomach. He cupped Stoffel’s chin, to make sure he wasn’t going to back out, and brushed their lips together. Vandoorne stayed stock-still, just after the fourth or fifth brush he made a shy attempt to reciprocate. After another three he slid out of his hold and walked off hastily.

_But he kissed back._

Esteban washed his face with cold water. He was going at it wrong, all along. If there was a way to stir something up in that desert inside of him, it wasn’t by any means through sex or confrontations, it was through tenderness.

With cappuccino in one hand and Stoffel’s forgotten espresso in the other, he was making his way through the door.

_I’ll get you, Stoff. The less you want it now, the more you’ll love it then…_

~

By the corner of his eye, he saw Esteban preparing to leave.

“Wait a bit,” he said. Esteban put on his coat, completely ignoring him. “Esteban, wait for me.”

“I don’t have time,” he shrugged.

Stoffel sighed. He saved the changes in his files and shut down the computer. Yet, by the time he got ready, there was no trace left of Ocon.

“Shit,” he hit the lift button with every word, “shit, shit, fuck, fucking shit…”

An accountant that entered the elevator with him stopped it to get out some five floors later, as she couldn’t stand his ranting about positive discrimination of women in business. Once alone again, he took a deep breath, pondering what to do next. He didn’t think he could do this out of nothing, some other day. And wasn’t sure Esteban was going to try it on him again.

Much to his surprise, he bumped into the Frenchman laughing with Danny outside the building. _“Oh, so you don’t have time?!”_ got stuck in his throat in the Aussie’s presence.

“Hey Stoff, wanna hit the club with us?” Danny laughed at his cheap joke. Stoffel looked from one to another, uttered the least sincere _“Have fun”_ in the world and took off.

 

~

 

“You don’t have time, or you don’t have time for me?” he asked before he could stop himself. That… deception was biting at his self-esteem the whole weekend. It wasn’t about kissing anymore, he just couldn’t stand Esteban so shamelessly leading him on.

“How touchy,” the Frenchman laughed. “Or jealous? Boy, I don’t know which I like more…”

“Fuck yourself.”

“Trust me, I’d love to, but it’s a little bit impractical, I prefer having someone for that.”

Stoffel wanted to continue the banter, but his own answer shut him up. No way he’s going to offer himself like this…

“Listen, want a lift, once you’ve got such a tight schedule?” he asked instead.

“Sounds convenient.”

 

Stoffel shut the driver’s door, grasped at his nape and brought their mouths together. Esteban put an arm around his shoulders, stopped the hand halfway to his thigh and cupped his cheek instead. Was it anybody else, he would hardly suffer through such bad kissing, but this was… endearing, in a way. He nuzzled Stoffel’s neck, breathing in heavy cologne, and caressed short hair at the back of his head.

“Tu me prends à rebrousse-poil[1],” Stoffel murmured, smirk in his voice, and Esteban realized that his French didn’t sound too awful and that it was quite funny.

“Va falloir t'y faire[2],” he replied, pressing mouth on his again, still stroking soft hair, especially upwards. He felt Stoffel smile into the kiss and just couldn’t hold his tongue back anymore. The other man jerked away, something like disgust flickering through his features.

“Hey,” Esteban pressed at his nape, “I’m French, put up with me French-kissing…” He didn’t take it personally. If he did, they would’ve never gotten even this far. He nibbled and sucked at Vandoorne’s bottom lip, swiped his tongue over it and between the parted lips. As he pushed slightly at Stoffel’s chin, the latter clenched his jaw. “Please,” Esteban whispered, “Stoff, do me a favor, open that mouth. Please,” another gentle try and this time, there was no resistance. He licked along the row of teeth, sneaked behind them to meet Stoffel’s tongue, twirl around it… The Belgian couldn’t move. It was wet and sloppy, new and intense and… pure. At the sound of Esteban sucking at his tongue and pulling away with a slurp, he had to shiver.

That smile was something he’d never seen in Stoffel before. It reached his eyes, which got one shade warmer, softened his features and made Ocon want to kiss him senseless right away. He decided to wait for his move, though, let him cherish the moment at his own pace. Stoffel tilted his head, reminding of an awed child, before slipping his tongue in Esteban’s mouth, trying to repeat his movements. A hand was crawling up his thigh, fairly disturbing him. He snapped it away and deepened the kiss. Esteban moaned softly, clutching his shoulders, and suddenly pulled away with a hiss.

“That’s not how I did it, Stoff,” he chewed at bitten lip.

“Sorry,” Stoffel dragged him into their half-hug again, stroking his arm, softly kissing the bottom lip, cheek and neck. Esteban tried to grope him once again, and Stoffel sat back in his seat, starting the car. “Guess I should drop you home, actually,” he wiped his mouth, avoiding the eye contact.

He only looked at Esteban when they stopped under his house and the Frenchman opened the door.

“I think I like this more than the subway,” he smirked, after a short hesitation decided to skip the peck and got out of the car.

Now this was truly something to think about in the shower. Too bad they didn’t go at it, but he could imagine Stoffel’s exasperation if something ended up on his car interior.

 

~

~

 

Nico arrived around two, packed some trekking clothes and shoes into the bag where Lance’s things were already stacked, and went to pick him up straight from the office to go for a weekend.

The boys walked into the parking lot, all caught up in their talk. Nico revved up the engine. They looked around, Esteban made the shaka gesture. Lance have him a hug and got in the car.

“Need a lift?” Nico waved at the Frenchman.

“No, thanks.” He leaned against a lamppost, making clear he wasn’t going anywhere. Nico cocked his eyebrows.

“Waiting for the first snow?”

“Might take a bit shorter. For Stoffel.”

“Oh! You go out?” Nico’s eyebrows jumped almost on top of his head.

“Not quite… His place,” Esteban added as he didn’t seem to catch on subtle hints. Now the German was actually gaping.

“I don’t think he’s ever brought anyone home. Hell, not even me!” He shook his head in disbelief. “Congrats, I guess? Looks like someone managed to crack our precious castle of glass…”

Esteban was missing the point of conspiracy look between the two in the car, obviously some internal joke, but the metaphor struck him. Indeed, he could see Stoffel as a fragile construction avoiding any possibly damaging contact. And himself as a wrecking ball.

“Attaboy, keep it up,” Nico gave him a thumb up. “You see… it’s far from my business, but… just a thought from one who knows him a bit longer.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s difficult. Trust me. I think of a bronco – if you try…”

“A what?”

“Oh my God, you’re in America! It’s a wild horse that…”

“And I’m supposed to know?! Jeez, stop acting like a redneck just cause you lived on the Southwest for a while…”

“That’s some basic knowledge, but yeah, whatever… In rodeo, they used to use wild bucking mustangs, now they aren’t wild anymore, so they tie a strap around their hips to irritate them and make them buck… So, the bronco Stoffel: he might seem to be standing still for a while, but try to straddle him, he’s gonna throw you off and not let you close ever again. Just let him run around, jump and prance, kick the fences, till he’s done, then he’ll realize what his problem is and see that you’re the only one who stayed through everything. And he’s gonna remember who took that strap off him… Yeah. Hope I’m right,” he laughed. “Make what you want out of this, and good luck.”

“Thanks,” Esteban said with nothing but a huge “ _wow_ ” on his mind. He was wondering whether Stoffel told Nico anything, how close the two of them were and more importantly, why. They had literally nothing in common, apart from being two alpha males in one pack.

They made a habit of kissing at the backseats, Stoffel was getting better at it. His caresses have also become less robotic, he was truly into it. Esteban, who felt like he was back in the high school, where he missed on this kind of romance, occasionally tried to slide a hand under his clothes, but he somehow always wriggled out of the touch. So, they were just hugging, Esteban rubbed his back and couldn’t wait to see that wonderful body naked. Hence why he almost lost it that morning when Stoffel out of the blue asked:

_“My place, today? Wanna take my time with you…”_

He nodded and here they were now, on their way.

Stoffel kept casually stroking his thigh between shifting the gears. He had a solid SUV which fitted perfectly his nature: not much outstanding, nothing that catches the eye like Nico’s shiny yellow Lotus Evora, but reliable, practical and boring. A car reveals awfully lot about its owner, Esteban realized while often counting new scratches on his distracted best friend’s E Class Merc he got for twentieth birthday. _If he had to earn it himself,_ the Frenchman thought, _he would maybe watch out a bit._ Esteban could only dream of purchasing such car, or any car at the moment, he had to settle for the Ford Fiesta he had in leasing for another three years. It didn’t feel really _his_ , and he left it a bit messy sometimes, sure, but nothing compared to, let’s say, Lance tossing empty coffee cups and paper bags in the back when he couldn’t stuff them into the door storage anymore, always swearing he would throw them all at once and always forgetting… Now the only thing the grey Honda HR-V was saying about its owner was that either he really is not entirely human, or you must find other ways of getting to know him. Not a single lucky charm hanging from the mirror or a picture attached to the sun visor, no particular smell, just the leather with a touch of Stoffel’s cologne, no particular music playing, just quietly humming radio only turning the volume up for traffic news.

The flat wasn’t any more helpful. Cold, plain functionalism, just the necessary furniture, and barely anything personal, books, accessories or souvenirs to be seen, apart from magnets on the fridge. He came closer to have a look. There were some from California, Utah, Nevada, Idaho, New Mexico…

“When did you get to travel all those pla…”

“I didn’t. You want anything or…” Stoffel gestured around the kitchenette.

“Just you.”

“Alright, then…” He backed Esteban towards the dining table, taking off his jacket while kissing him. An image of fresh linen and squeaking mattress flashed through Ocon’s mind, but it quickly faded into reality of glass pressed against his lower back. Ah, whatever. A fuck is always a fuck, no matter where, right? Stoffel grasped at his wrist.

“No… c’mon, don’t…”

“I won’t,” Esteban let go of the zip and moved his hand to cup his face, “let me just kiss you, okay?”

Stoffel wrapped his arms around him and kissed back fervently. So, it wasn’t about the car. It remained a mystery to Ocon, this thick line between sex and intimacy. When they fucked, Stoffel barely even touched him, and every time Esteban tried to kiss him, afterwards, he was pushed away, mouth ending somewhere on neck or shoulder, which, the Frenchman reckoned, Stoffel didn’t exactly enjoy, neither, but did nothing about it. And took Esteban from behind, always. Yet, when they were making out, he could be quite sweet. Esteban kept gently pushing his boundaries and he succumbed, one step at a time. And those moments felt amazing. Call him crazy, he was enjoying it so much. It was a challenge. A mission he had sworn to accomplish: make Stoffel Vandoorne make love. No need to move in together and share a lifetime, that didn’t work for Esteban; sex with feelings would be enough. He was sure Stoffel had those feelings, otherwise he wouldn’t let him do what he was doing, just like he never let anyone. Maybe because no one ever tried. Maybe because they didn’t bother to see what that man could be, what their relationship could be. Esteban did. He saw Stoffel, not just (soon to be _Senior_ ) Sales Analyst Vandoorne. Understood his cynical humor, related to his worldviews, admired his determined character instead of just envying the results it was bringing. He looked through that crack in glass and saw a land of boundless opportunities. Stoffel was tabula rasa, a clean sheet Esteban was going to write his name on all over, white on black, permanently.

~

“I want a morning fuck,” he said, and Stoffel had no argument for that. It was an inviting idea. Finally some fun on the weekend. So, Esteban just stayed. They were making out some more, until Stoffel got up with a sigh and went to the kitchen counter to pop some tablet in his palm.

“Here’s to sweet, deep sleep,” he raised the glass of water as his gaze met Esteban’s, visibly concerned, and threw it back.

“You take sleeping pills?”

“Just some natural shit.” _For now, and guess it won’t last much_ , he didn’t add. Ocon nodded slowly.

 

“No goodnight kiss?” he pouted as Stoffel lied on the bed, face in the pillow.

 “Find yourself a boyfriend for this shit, be glad you can sleep here.”

“Oh, I can?” He got up, dressed and went for the door, followed by Stoffel’s surprised gaze.

“Hey, you don’t have to go…”

“You don’t tell me what I have to or don’t have to, I do what I want. And I want to fucking leave this fucking place.”

“Whatever, just let me sleep,” Vandoorne muttered in the pillow.

Esteban made sure to slam all the doors the loudest possible on his way.

 

[1] “You rub me the wrong way.” – literally “against the growth of hair”

[2] “Better get used to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we’re still in the F1 fandom, I had to include a little cars-related paragraph XD
> 
> Anyone rooting for these two out there? :)


	13. sweet but a psycho (i’m outta my mind)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Without struggle, there is no progress, they say.  
> Stoffel struggles hard. But he doesn’t want a progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at writing smut but still do it... sorry, deal with me XD

“Nutella?” Esteban laughed, making himself comfortable at the bar table in Stoffel’s kitchen.

None of them had brought up the attempt at sleepover, since. Esteban just walked in the office on Monday as if nothing happened and declined Stoffel’s invite to come over saying he had plans already, and although he spent that evening boring himself to death at home, he was glad he didn’t go, because he’s not a puppet on Vandoorne’s string, he comes when _he_ wants. Today, he wanted.

“What?” Stoffel glanced over from the fridge.  

“You like Nutella?” It just looked nothing like him.

“One of my guilty pleasures…”

“And the others?”

“You, for example…”

“Me, guilty, why? I am just pure pleasure,” he grinned taking the jar from the shelf and opening it.

“ _Don’t put_ … your hands in there,” Stoffel added a bit late.

“I washed them!” Esteban argued, sucking at his finger with a meaningful look.

“Well, congratulations. You’ve just officially ruined the Nutella for me, and it was one of the few things that weren’t screaming _sex_ at me… you awful being.”

“Sorry,” he shrugged and looked anything but sorry. And before Stoffel could articulate a disgusted protest about bacteria and the cream going bad, Esteban was digging his hand in it again. He traced the finger down his chin and neck. “Want some?” he smirked. Stoffel hesitantly moved closer, licked at his lips, followed the trail along the sharp jaw; Esteban grasped at distinctive bulge growing under Vandoorne’s jeans, unzipped them and palmed his crotch while Stoffel was devouring his neck with delicious little moans. He knew he broke him, when the Belgian frantically unbuttoned his own shirt and with a guilty sigh stuck his hand in the jar to smear Nutella on his chest. He pulled Esteban by the hair to lick at it, gasping at the sensation; after a while jerked his head backwards and shoved two fingers in his mouth.

“Suck them nice and clean, if you don’t wanna have Nutella up your ass,” he said, voice a bit unsteady with arousal, and Esteban sucked, stroking Stoffel to rock-hard erection. And the next thing he knew, he was flipped over, gripping at the bar table, pants down to his knees and Stoffel was fingering him, teeth grazing over his neck.

“Fuck me, c’mon,” he nearly whispered.

“Pardon?”

“Fuck me, Stoffel,” he hissed. Stoffel removed his hand.

“Tsk-tsk, where are your manners?” he smacked, rolling on the condom.

“Pretty please, Stoff, give me that cock,” Esteban whined at the emptiness, "I’ll make you come out of your mind, just fuck me, please..."

Stoffel entered him with a chuckle.

“For being a good boy…” It was crazy, but he was losing himself. No one ever made him feel that way before. Made him live his rotten fantasies. Honestly, he didn’t even think of going with anyone else, anymore. All the other guys were – now he saw it clearly – just bleak, flat, boring and unattractive parodies on men. Esteban, on the other hand, was a proud, headstrong, uncontrollable force of nature. Just like him. They only had two options: clash and destroy each other or unite. Stoffel didn’t want to destroy him ever again.

 

“Stay the night?” he suggested. “Like, the whole night?”

Esteban tossed his jacket back on the table, making Stoffel wince, and kicked off the shoes.

“If you kiss me to sleep,” he smirked and watched amused as the Belgian hung the jacket on a chair and checked the table surface from scratches. God, how Esteban loved teasing him…

 

As he found out, Stoffel’s idea of kissing someone to sleep was to peck him at the bedroom door and tell him to sleep. Still better than the last time.

Used to his empty bed, he must have rolled a bit too much in his sleep – somehow, he woke up in the middle of the night cuddled up against Stoffel. He couldn’t help it, the position was just too inviting. He swung one leg over his hip, wrapped an arm around his chest and buried his face in minty hair. _Anti-dandruff shampoo, probably_ , he thought and drifted off with a satisfying thought that no beauty is perfect to the core.

~

Stoffel stirred from sleep before his internal clock would wake him up at five forty, to find his personal space very much invaded. He tried to slide out of the hug without waking his colleague up, but Esteban just pulled him closer, pressing lips to his nape, sliding a hand up and down his torso, and Stoffel lost it. He snapped the hand away and lied on his stomach, face in the pillow.

“Fuck you, I’ve had enough ’f this,” Esteban murmured, his accent notable in sleepy state and Stoffel found it rather sexy. Which wasn’t helping much in his current situation.

“Which means you let me be finally?”

“Which means I’m takin’ the lead,” he felt a body lay down on him. “Not gettin’ away from this, Stoff,” came a whisper right next to his ear. He shuddered. Never has he felt so crowded. But Ocon knew too well that he wouldn’t knock him off, he wasn’t one for physical confrontations. He ran his hands down Stoffel's sides and grasped at his hips. “Lift that ass,” he groaned and jerked them upwards and Stoffel, too taken aback to resist, let him sneak a hand underneath him to fondle his crotch. A pleading _“No, c’mon…”_ was all he mustered. Esteban kissed his temple.

“No, c’mon _you_ , you want it… What are you so scared of?” He stroked his hair. “Huh? Me? I don’t bite. Just sometimes…” He nibbled at his shoulder through the t-shirt.

“Me,” Stoffel echoed into the pillow, but Esteban still could hear it. Might be better to pretend not to.

“Relax, okay?” he tried to roll them back to the spooned position and Stoffel, although tense, let him do, let him hook a leg around his leg, kiss his neck, hold him tight, low hushed voice actually calming. “Just relax and feel it. Feel me.”

Soft illusive darkness enveloping them, hot breath and gentle palms on his skin, fingers crawling under the waistband of his boxers and an arm pressing him to the lean body behind his back… He wanted to shake it all off, head in the bathroom and simply jerk himself, but paralyzed by all the new sensations, he couldn’t move. He squeezed his eyes, slightly dizzy, as Esteban took a firm hold of him, leaning over to kiss his mouth. He let out an embarrassing whimper. Ocon chuckled.

“Like it, don’t you?” he smiled against his lips. “C’mon, Stoff, come for me…” He sped up and Stoffel, with a gasp, turned around to hug him and crushed their mouths together.

It hit him harder than any fuck ever did. Frighteningly hard. A jolt of pleasure ran from his groin through the wrenching guts straight to the brain, knocking his lights out; as his breathing returned to even, he opened his eyes to see the lean figure sitting on their heels with a triumphant grin, thin lines of light piercing through the blinds adorning their chest and shoulders like some sort of light chains. It was a capturing sight.

“Good morning, beauty,” Stoffel offered a decent smile, too, and didn’t feel like getting up from that peaceful daze.

 

~

 

He had never lingered on an encounter, he was done with them the second he hit the peak, no matter how good they were.

Well, _good_. What was that, for him? He could tell a quality blowjob from a bad one. He couldn’t really tell a quality fuck from a bad one, as he only knew the quickie against the desk or some wall, and it was all the same – basically, just some relieving friction. Almost a fap, but a bit different… Anyways, nothing too interesting.

Before he got involved with Esteban, that is. Before he had a counterpart.

However, back to the point, as Vandoorne hated beating around the bush: he had never lingered on any of those. And now that he had Esteban sitting across the desk from him, so close and so out of reach, so real, fresh, beautiful, warm… Yesterday’s “sweetest fuck ever” as they called it, all the moans and cries, Esteban laughing cheekily: _“Your neighbours must love you…”_ , that jerk-off which now seemed to him as just a misty dream before the dawn, all that kept crawling in between the statistic graphs. He gripped at the mouse with one hand, at the edge of his desk with another, gritting his teeth.

He didn’t need anyone, he was fine with his hand. Better, actually. It wouldn’t look at him like he owed it anything.

But. There was one _but_. Huge and persistent _but_ that were their make-out sessions. He really liked them. He liked the kisses, also those sloppy French ones, liked the feeling of Esteban’s body close to his, breathing that cheap perfume which stayed in his nose long after they parted and he would prefer it to any Tom Ford, Creed or Dolce & Gabbana, he liked the touches on his skin, and in particular on…

 

_No._

_It’s just the fucks, Vandoorne._

~~_The fucks with Este_ ~~

_And it won’t be anything else._

~~_It can’t, right? Or can it_ ~~

_Cause there’s nothing else._

~~_But this morni_ ~~

_Sex is filth. Filth will be filth._

~~_That wasn’t fil_~~

_And shut the fuck up already, will you?!_

~~_Cause you are scared to list_ ~~

_Cause I don’t have fucking time!_

 

He moved to the conference room, officially room 217.B, unofficially “Stoffel’s office”, as he often retreated there to be alone, for whatever reason. He deleted the whole file and started doing it all over. He stayed there until half past eight, in comforting company of numbers and algorithms that were making perfect sense and didn’t mess with his head.

Yet, between leaving the office and getting home, the memory was back. He hated himself for it and just wanted it to stop, disappear from his mind, from his life that was turning upside down and he needed to get it back on track…

Starting with his goodnight fix of adult content.

Scrolling down the website, he played the video with the most perverted orgy on thumbnail and satisfied with himself, went to dump the load in the shower.

He spent quite a while there, washed his hair and the whole body twice; hot water wrapping him, streaming down his face and shoulders, was burning on the skin but couldn’t reach that cold place inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also kind of solution...  
> P.S. In case you were missing Nico and Lance, we’re getting back to them in next chapter(s) :)


	14. what i thought wasn’t all so innocent (was a delicate doll of porcelain)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance deals with the aspects of long distance love.  
> Esteban just wants to overcome the short distance emptiness.

From the corner of his eye he saw Stoffel knock back the sleeping pills – actual pills, not the natural shit, but his main focus was still on half-eaten sandwich, lying sadly on the plate amidst the crumbles, drops of sauce and pieces of salad fallen out. Getting back to normal eating habits wasn’t easy with all the pressure he has put himself under, struggling with the last year of university, resisting Stoffel’s well-intentioned suggestions to drop out, and working his ass off in the meantime.

_God, aren’t we both messed up?!_

He felt a strange melancholy, all of a sudden. Endless play station games, silly chatters and laughs about nothing, karaoke contests in awfulness, movie nights on sofa covered in popcorn they tried and failed to catch in their mouths, all that flashed before his eyes, leaving a burning trail. It has gone for good. With Lance. He was still the same kid and Esteban could imagine him doing all kinds of fun things with Nico, now, because Nico was good ten years behind his age, always ready to hit the club, prank somebody, crack stupid jokes that were for some reason actually funny, not giving a damn about what whoever might think of him… Stoffel and himself were good ten years ahead. Of which he was generally proud, but… Just _but_ , let’s leave it at that.

Stoffel leaned over to kiss his neck and he didn’t really feel like taking it further. But what else would they do? And he didn’t want to be alone.

Truth was, apart from work they knew next to nothing about each other, they rarely talked about anything else and he wasn’t up for business talks.

Neither for sex.

Dead end.

He pushed Stoffel’s hand away. The idea was to wrap him around the finger, not to become like him, filling the void inside with routine fucks.

“I’m not in the best mood, sorry.”

“Oh, come on, you’ll get better after…”

“No, I won’t.” The best shag in the world couldn’t help him out of this. And certainly not one with Stoffel. What he needed right now were the cuddles that wouldn’t follow.

“Okay, I get it. You’re not a fuck doll. Anything happened?”

“I feel like one,” his voice quivered. Stoffel let out a sarcastic snort.

“What did I do again?”

“Nothing,” Esteban sighed. _That’s the point. Nothing is what I feel outside the bed with you._

“Who, then?” And no, the thought of Esteban with someone else definitely didn’t sting in his chest, the guy can do whatever he wants, just like he can. Overwork, maybe? He might be getting some cardiovascular problems, Nico always laughs he’s going to die of stroke by the age of thirty…

Ocon shook his head.

“You’re not a fuck doll,” Stoffel hissed into his ear, yanking his hair, “say it again and I’m gonna punch you right in the middle of that pretty face… So, what is it?”

“I don’t know, just… so much has changed in my life, lately, I have changed and it’s so strange…”

“Changed for better or for worse?”

“For _stranger_. It’s like… I don’t have a bit of fun in my life, I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love it, my job and stuff, and I love sex, very much, just that… sometimes I don’t recognize myself – I mean, this new self, it’s odd, you know, when I had… free time, I was going out, on dates, with friends, and now all I do is study, work, fuck and sleep and… it all hit me, somehow…”

“That you’ve grown up,” Stoffel finished, gently holding his shoulders. “I see… Well, I know I must look boring as fuck to you… I mean, a fuck isn’t boring, what kind of comparison is that? Just I am.”

Esteban cracked up. Boring not really, rather too single-minded. Sex aside, he couldn’t picture him doing anything other than working and… working, and maybe sleeping, which would be a nice sight if he didn’t know of chemical reactions behind those relaxed features and silent, steady breaths…

He covered one hand on his shoulder with his own. Stoffel cleared his throat.

“Can you play chess?”

Esteban shook his head.

“I’ve tried a few times, but… nothing came out of it. Maybe if I had a better teacher?” he glanced behind with a smirk. Stoffel sighed.

“Ah, you are intelligent, I might survive it… Come on.”

He briefly reminded to Esteban the movements of the figures and guided him through the game with astonishing patience.

“Not really the smartest move, sweetheart,” he pursed his lips.

Esteban frowned, studying the chessboard.

“Why?” he gave up. Stoffel pointed at his bishop. “Because you left the king undefended and I can checkmate you.”

“So?”

“So, take it back.”

He bit his lip. Now if only he remembered… Was it a horse, or that was the move before? Stoffel laughed and put Esteban’s pawn to its previous place. Esteban looked up, amazed.

“Really, or you just put it where it suits you?”

“I’d beat you blindfolded, no need for that,” he snorted, cocked his head and counting down the moves, rewound the game to the starting positions. With a triumphant grin, he looked up to see Esteban with his jaw pretty low. “It’s just practice, don’t look at me like that,” he laughed again, and the Frenchman was truly awestruck. He hasn’t seen him that laid-back and happy in the whole year of knowing him. Too bad it didn’t last. Returning the figures to where they ended took him a bit longer, movements lethargic and eyes glassy. “Sorry,” he mumbled, holding his head. “Shit’s kicking in…”

Oh, right. They’ve lost a sense of time there.

“That’s okay,” Esteban said quickly, “can we finish it another time?”

“Sure,” Stoffel smiled wearily, making his way to the bed. “Fuck this shit,” Esteban heard him groan as he hit the pillow. He laid besides, stroking his back.

 

That evening was unexpectedly nice itself. But what absolutely knocked Esteban over was when he came there a few days later and in the middle of that neat and tidy flat, he found the untouched chessboard on the table.

 

~

 

He froze when the date circled with a red heart caught his eye. Not that he forgot, just… Lance didn’t really check the calendar much. All he needed to know was whether it was a workday or not and with that he was somehow keeping up.

The gift was waiting wrapped in the wardrobe, and as for today, which was actually tomorrow, in Germany… Such a stupid time difference. At least Nico was an early bird, he didn’t mind waking up at five to have a chat before going to work.

Anyhow, as for today, Lance thought of something Nico brought up a few days ago and the idea seemed appropriate for the occasion.

 

He took a deep breath and clicked on the call icon.

“Hey, Lancey!” Nico’s smiling face appeared on the screen.

“Good birthday morning, love,” Lance greeted him.

“Thank you, baby.”

“Turned thirty-two already?”

“Yep. I was born around three in the morning, so…”

“Poor your mum. What are the plans?”

“Nothing much, just the pub with friends after work.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Yeah, they are cool. How are you?”

“Great, especially right now.”

“Glad to hear that.”

“You’ll be even more glad to see…”

“See what?”

“This,” Lance pulled off his t-shirt and settled further from the laptop, as he slid his hands down his chest under the briefs. “How I’m coping here without you…”

Nico leaned forward with tongue between his teeth.

“Lancey,” he gasped when the younger man wriggled out of the briefs and sucked on his fingers, idly stroking the hardening cock. “Yeah, show me how you treat that ass when I’m not around…”

“Very well,” Lance chewed on his lip, giggling softly; he got on all four and lifted his butt, pushing the fingers in.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” came a gasp from behind him.

“And it will get better…” He reached behind the pillow and rolled onto his back.

“You… oh, wow?!” Nico stammered, more and more amazed by the transformation of his boyfriend. Lance shrugged with a giggle, coating the toy in lube.

“Gotta keep in shape somehow… C’mon, imagine it’s your cock,” he said, sliding it slowly in and out, “fucking me nice and deep…”

“Fuck, Lance,” Nico panted, stroking himself in sync, “can’t you go faster?”

“Nah, baby,” Lance licked his lips, “once we are at it, enjoy it…”

Nico bit back a moan, wondering at the back of his head where was this sudden smuttiness coming from. Little did he know it was Lance’s love for him plus three shots of whiskey.

He lost it when Lance, shivering in beautiful trance between fucking himself and jerking off, somehow managed to gasp out:

“Come on, Nico, come all over me…”

Behind the whitish streak across the screen he saw the Canadian get on his knees and look intently in the camera, licking his fingers, hair sticking to sweaty forehead.

“Happy birthday, Nico. Love you so much,” he blew him a kiss.

“Thank you. Thank you, Lancey. I love you, you have no idea how… Thank you. Good night, love.” Nico pecked the camera, cum sticking to his chin.

That was some birthday gift. He could get used to such starts of new day…

 

Lance shut down the laptop and sat against the headboard, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders. As the encouraging effect of scotch on the rocks vanished, he was left with his usual inner mess. It was his boyfriend, and he made him really happy, he knew he shouldn’t be feeling like that but couldn’t help it.

Dirty. Not as in sexy, just… just dirty.

It was stupid (which doesn’t come as a surprise, he _is_ stupid), at his age and so on, but he really didn’t have it in him. The… obscenity, some kind of natural playful tease, pleasure in being viewed…

And he didn’t even dare to imagine how it must have looked.

He was well-built, yes, he knew about the looks drawn to his pecs and rear end (making him rather uncomfortable), and he didn’t want to punch his own face in the mirror so desperately, lately, but still couldn’t consider himself _attractive_ at all. Hence, showing off in this manner, he felt a lot idiotically.

Whatever. Nico seemed to enjoy.

If a few shots are all it takes, he’ll be more than happy to keep that up.

That bright smile was well worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized, maybe I should have tagged all the messed up things that this fic deals with in advance, but I didn’t want to spoil... If you want me to, though, just tell me!


	15. (i just died) in your arms tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of not quite dying, pain and decisions.
> 
> Warnings: as tagged, this chapter contains a mention of past suicide attempt (nothing graphic) and no matter what is said there, the message is: suicide is NOT the way.  
> Also, some mild S/M dynamics begin here.  
> If any of that feels uncomfortable for you, skip the first half.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because orgasm being called "the little death" is very poetic.  
> Hope I still manage to convey some sense beneath the porn this fic is turning into...

“Fuuuck…” he whined, voice wavy in the rhythm of quick thrusts, adding breathlessly: “…me harder… bite me… whatever, make it… fucking… hurt…”

Stoffel grasped at his shoulders and pounded into him ruthlessly, grazing nails down his spine, licking and biting at the sweaty neck. Esteban gripped at the headboard, knuckles white.

“Fuck, c’mon, I… I wanna remember it tom… aah, tomorrow…” His knees gave up, he crumbled on the bed, with Stoffel laying on him for a few final thrusts.

“You will,” he flipped him over, jerking him off.

“No… no, no, no,” Esteban pushed his hand away hand, but the Belgian held him firmly, brushing the thumb over the tip, making him tremble uncontrollably. “Fuck you, Stoffel… wanna kill me?!” he sobbed. Stoffel pressed their mouths together, desperate moans vibrating against his lips.

“You Frenchies call orgasm _le_ _petit_ _mort_ , no?” he smirked as he finally let go.

“This was far from _petit!”_ Esteban gasped in shaky voice, beads of sweat on his forehead, fighting the empty feeling creeping in. Just a mere touch, to let him know he really wasn’t a fuck doll… He knew it wouldn’t be easy with Stoffel’s distorted views on sex, but he still had his needs. “Hold me, Stoff,” he almost whispered, because the Belgian couldn’t know that in real life it doesn’t end like his sexy videos, in real life, the most important part is the after-part. Esteban, catching his breath in tight embrace, was just hoping he would grasp at it without further explanations.

“Are you okay?” Stoffel asked. “Fuck, I… did I hurt you?”

“No, just… just hold me.”

“Turn over?” he lied on his side after a while, and Esteban rolled onto his stomach. He heard Stoffel inhale sharply and couldn’t tell what was so appealing about it, but he felt slight chills. “You really like it this rough?” the Belgian asked, tracing fingertips over the swelling marks on his back.

“Does me good, when I need to blow off steam. Any problem with it?” he glanced over his shoulder, surprised.

“Hell no! Go figure, I love this,” he slid a hand down the lines to reddened butt cheeks. “Just… trying to understand. I don’t know, I… I don’t really like pain,” he cringed. Esteban found it quite ironic, given his obvious passion for edgy sex _._ Then again, Stoffel was edgy more in mental then in physical sense.

“A bit of pain makes it more… intense. I don’t think I can explain it to you understandably, but it’s like… your nerves get more sensitive to _everything_ … I don’t know. I mean, I like it to some extent.”

“Just don’t let me take it too far.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. But… it’s good. I mean pain. You don’t have to like it, but you should embrace it. Pain builds strength.”

“Is that some experience speaking?”

“Do I hear irony there?”

“Well, you don’t appear much strong to me,” Stoffel poked his outlined ribcage.

“Not only physical strength,” Ocon clarified. “And by the way, I am, and you don’t want a proof, trust me.”

“Yeah, I know, I don’t, but… that’s what I was talking about: mentally, you just don’t cope…”

“Says the one that can’t sleep a night without the pills? First, I’ve put on a kilo and a half, so shut up.” Stoffel gave him a thumb up, caressing his thigh. “And second, if I weren’t strong, I wouldn’t be here anymore, so…”

“Oh, come on, don’t get morbid!”

“In this job, not in this world! Although, people break down in different ways…”

Stoffel pushed himself up against the headboard and bit his lip.

“Have you ever thought about it?”

A bit of a mood killer. But what kind of pillow talk could one expect from Vandoorne? Fluffy stuff? Plans for the future? Duh. This was honestly more interesting.

“No. And I had been in some deep shit. But I always wanted to pull through, not to… give up.”

“Whoa, it’s not… I wouldn’t call it giving up! It takes a lot… it takes everything you’ve got left in you. It’s not a weakness, I think it’s more like… a wrong way of showing your last power of will, the last drop of resistance against whatever and whoever: _you wanna fuck up my life, I’ll take it away from you. From myself as well, but that’s the price to pay._ I’m not saying it’s worth that price. It’s not. But sometimes, it might seem so.”

“You…?” Esteban managed to blurt out. Stoffel was so unnaturally honest, concerned, almost emotional, that it had to be personal.

“Me? I don’t think I would have the guts to even think of it. No… a friend.”

“You have friends?”

“Yeah, not all have killed themselves off yet,” Stoffel stated, unimpressed.

“Shit, sorry! Is he…?”

“Luckily not.”

“What happened?”

“Does it matter? You’d call him weak cause he couldn’t stand _the_ _pain_ ,” Stoffel put a hand on his chest. “Yeah, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, but sometimes it just kills you… It’s not that simple to judge, you know.”

“Yeah, I… I am really sorry. I had no idea.”

“I know. You’re not so wrong, but it depends on character. You have a tenacious one. Some people are more… fragile.”

It was odd, hearing Stoffel say the word _fragile_ with such respect, he usually had none for people who let themselves break.

“Still, it’s not fair,” Esteban shook his head after a thoughtful while, “to those left behind. Left to suffer for the rest of their lives, thinking they could’ve done something, haven’t done enough… It’s selfish, you know. There is always someone who loves you, who will miss you, whose life you’ve ruined…”

“Oh, take your soap box and go preach on Times Square, you impersonated Bible! Someone who loves you… Is there?” Stoffel tilted his head, as if he was really thinking about it. “You would miss my cock,” he snorted, “Christian would miss my work, guess that Nico would miss my reason against his emotions… But would anyone miss me?” He slid down on the bed, closing his eyes, arms lifted over his head, and for some reason it looked disturbing to Esteban, but before he could form any protest, Stoffel rolled onto his stomach and folded the arms under the pillow. It was utterly pathetic to be jealous of a pillow, but Ocon sometimes wished it was him.

“Did you call me a Frenchy?” he realized.

“You are a Frenchy.”

“I am French. No _a_ , no _y_.”

“My fuck, don’t be so touchy!” Stoffel laughed.

“Yeah? Whatever, at least I know I am French.”

“Because I don’t know I am Belgian?”

“Belgian, Flemish, not-quite-Dutch, what else?”

“We should really just screw,” Stoffel grunted.

“Don’t be so touchy,” Esteban nudged him on the verge of laughter.

“Would you be a bit nicer to me if I was at least Walloon?”

“I’m just as nice as you deserve for being an ass, you don’t have to be anything else.”

“I can sleep,” he said, suddenly, “and I will.”

Esteban raised an eyebrow. Oh, sure. Competitive dick, always needs to prove something to someone. He gave him a soft kiss.

“Good for you.”

 

He was stroking Stoffel’s back till he dozed off, and the Belgian loved it, truly, just that it inevitably ended, and he was left wide awake in the dark, with his racing mind. Not the best night for experiments.

At half past three he just couldn’t stand it anymore and against his best knowledge, took the pill.

He would be better off staying up the whole night. Waking up felt like coming back from the grave. He somehow managed to dress up and drink a coffee and this time he was really glad that Esteban slept with him. He tossed him the car keys and watched the world go by in slow motion, trying uselessly to kick-start his brain.

“Wow. I should dope you in the middle of the night more often,” the Frenchman grinned. Stoffel was extremely and almost aggressively possessive when it came to his property. In particular to his car. Here he really didn’t have much choice: crashing or risking Esteban will crash. And he had to admit the latter was a bit more reliable than him. Of course, he could hail a cab, but just at the thought of the car fresheners his head ached even more. Or he could take a subway, but that would mean a lot of people. Loud, ugly, smelly people crowding him. The last thing he needed that morning was to kill someone. He had seen Ocon’s car and it showed no signs of damage. It should be alright…

“Are you going home for Christmas?”

“I’m going home every day.”

Esteban rolled his eyes.

“I mean in Belgium.”

“Nah. Uselessly long flight for nothing.”

“Your parents?”

“I don’t have parents.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“No problem. I don’t even remember them, anyways. And don’t talk to me if you don’t want me to snap at you.”

“Yeah…” He didn’t know what to say next, after all. Small talk took an unexpected turn and Stoffel’s coldness surprised him a bit. But the air in the car was a bit too heavy. He couldn’t spend the rest of the ride like that.

“So, no plans at all? Don’t tell me you’re gonna sit at home all the holidays…”

Squeezing his eyes shut didn’t block out the sound, so Stoffel opened them to shoot a glare at the driver.

“I’ll be here, putting together the annual review, then compare it with the last year, with the last four, make a preview for the nex…”

“Okay, I can imagine, thank you.” Esteban shuddered. _Pile of bureaucratic crap_ , he remembered. That was supposed to be Christmas?! “But you are going to the cottage, right?”

“What, the team building shit? Guess I’ll unfortunately have a flu with thirty-nine-degree fever.”

“Come on, you cannot be _so_ far from this world!”

“Excuse me, what’s the idea of fun this time? Blind food tasting, drawing the animal that represents my personality, sharing memories of my first day in office and the Secret Santa?”

Esteban laughed out at the idea of Stoffel doing any of the listed. That’s something to live for.

“Trust me, nobody wants a gift from me. People don’t like having a mirror held up to them.”

He was dying to know what those gifts would be but decided to ask another time as Stoffel seemed really annoyed.

“Oh c’mon, wanna stay here four days without me?”

“Right now, I feel like staying a lifetime without you, why can’t you just shut up? My head’s literally gonna split and you don’t wanna see that…”

“Aw. Must be some nasty shit in there… So? Give me a yes and I will shut up for the rest of… at least till the lunch.”

“Ahh… Nico called me, too, he’ll be there… I guess I’ll go,” he shrugged.

“Perfect,” Esteban grinned. “Snowboard or ski?”

“Ski.”

“Argh. Boring.”

“Think so? Race me on powder, if you dare.”

Esteban smirked at his suddenly chirpy voice. It was just stronger than him. If he had a death wish, Ocon could swear it would be a dare.

“Don’t play with fire, boy,” he patted his thigh. Stoffel leaned his forehead on cold window. God, since when does that Frenchy make his decisions? Must be the headache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My precious readers, if you haven’t run off yet, here is, out of curiosity, a small poll that I wanted and forgot to put after previous chapter: Nico/Lance or Este/Stoff? :P


	16. (share a raincoat in the wind) they’ve got my back until the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends.
> 
> Also featuring marks than do or do not fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the guys are at the Christmas teambuilding event.
> 
> In case you had doubts on who the last chapter was about, here you go...

Nico plunged himself in the sofa, holding a whiff of mistletoe above Stoffel’s head. The latter rolled his eyes and winced when Nico planted a smooch on his cheek and wrapped an arm around him.

“Doesn’t have to be forever, but at least for another year put up with me?”

“We’ll see how much you’ll piss me off.” Stoffel eventually relaxed into the touch. After a while he gave him a nudge. “How’s it going?”

“Fine. I mean, I wasn’t sure about coming back, but you see… blood is blood, thicker than water. Home is home. I get to see my family at the weekends, after ten years... No one lives forever, you know, I’m really glad I can spend some time with them. And I’ve got nice colleagues there, the boss is a dick, but that’s pretty much anyone compared to Christian, so… nothing to complain about, really.”

“Glad to hear that. And with your… maple-syrupy sweet boy?”

Nico smiled, a bit melancholic, nipping on the parasitic plant.

“I wish I knew. He looks happy, but… I should be with him more. Just that I don’t know how, at the moment, I really can’t…”

“I was asking about _you_.”

“I’m good.”

“Good is not good enough, Nico,” Stoffel put a hand on his shoulder, “careful, okay?”

The German tickled his face with the mistletoe.

“Chill out, man, I’m starting to worry you are getting emotional...”

“Must be this Christmas spirit shit,” Stoffel made a movement as if he wanted to shrug something off.

“Or this Ocon spirit,” Nico cocked his head.

“Oh, shut up! He’s a good company, he’s a good fuck, I mean, why not?”

“No, it makes sense, you’re much alike.”

Stoffel quirked a smile.

“Guess we are, yeah… Whatever, if anything… you know. I’m here."

Nico gave him a light squeeze, pretty sure he wasn’t going to turn to him for any help regarding his love life ever again, but it’s the thought that counts.

"Why, though?" Stoffel cleared his throat after a while. "I mean, why me? I think... you don’t just go around the office telling random people shit like that, and I was quite random back then...”

“Cause I felt like it. I don’t know. I knew you wouldn’t make a melodramatic scene out of it.”

Stoffel chuckled.

“Nice to have some certainties in life, isn’t it?”

It was far from melodrama, indeed. Office newbie Vandoorne was drowning in his work, not yet such a know-it-all he became later (very soon, to be fair). And Nico, who had found strange sympathy for the guy right from the start, was keeping him distracting company.

 _“Can I just kill myself?”_ Stoffel groaned at some point, and Nico shook his head.

_“Rather not. I tried and trust me, you’re better off alive.”_

Stoffel froze for a second, then just continued typing whatever he was typing, responding in the German’s tone, with a nonchalant:

_“Shame you failed, it could be so quiet here and I could actually work…”_

For a second he was afraid he went a step too far, but Nico just laughed softly.

_“Tough luck, I won’t get off your ass so easily.”_

_“You’re not getting anywhere near my ass, schatje. As for the front, though…”_ He bit his tongue mischievously, eyes still glued to the screen, and heard a heartfelt snort.

_“Yeah, dream on, lieveling.”_

Honestly, Stoffel was glad. That they were good, that Nico turned him down, that he _existed_. And he made sure to make it clear.

Later, they would have a proper talk above a cup of coffee, about _that_ and more. Much to surprise of their co-workers, they bonded pretty tight. One being Flemish and other born by the borders with Netherlands, they especially enjoyed badmouthing in Dutch when no one could understand them, and their elaborated banters amused the colleagues more than they wanted to admit. They had a sort of _don’t ask, don’t tell_ agreement – Stoffel didn’t dig into anything unless Nico started to talk about it himself, but then he really _listened_ , which not many people do. And Nico never questioned the Belgian’s way of living, getting to him with mentoring and trying to talk some sense into him, never insisted on getting an answer from him when it was obvious Stoffel didn’t want to answer – which was pretty much always… They were simply respecting each other’s privacy and for the same reason felt safe to let each other in.

It was a sort of safe zone, where Nico wouldn’t fall in love and Stoffel wouldn’t feel any need to fuck him, so their friendship stayed intact.

Although everyone considered them some kind of lovers. Trading dirty jokes, getting physical at any given time, the fact that Nico was tolerating that prick in his personal space, and that he was likely the only person on earth that Stoffel seemed to be fond of… And the two were having fun of it. They were good together. They were different. They were troubled. They were show-offs. They were making people uncomfortable. They were making each other comfortable. And they couldn’t care less for all the rest.

~

Esteban took the guitar, abandoned there as Checo was already too tipsy to play (not that he was any excellent even when he was sober), and sat cross-legged on the floor, picking random melodies that popped up in his head. At the notorious _Smoke on the Water_ riff, Stoffel looked around, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

“You can play?”

“As you can tell…” He changed the tune, furrowing his brows in focus. “Used to take lessons for a few years, but I’ve forgotten everything, I don’t have time to practice at all…”

“No, you haven’t! That’s the _Stairway to Heaven_ , isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he beamed.

“So, you like rock?”

“What else? That’s _the_ _music_ …”

“Preach, boy,” Stoffel nodded in approval. “Go on, go on, I like this… _There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold, and she's buying a stairway to heaven_ …”

“You have great voice!” Esteban looked up, amazed. Pitched quite like the original and singing really in tune. Stoffel cocked his head.

“I’m all great… Just play, don’t let it distract you.”

Esteban stuck out his tongue but complied. It was a repetitive pattern and he was getting more confident.

“Nice, what else do we have there?” Stoffel cut in as he ran out of the pieces of lyrics he remembered. Esteban picked at the strings, finding the pattern, and the Belgian sat upright in excitement, facing him.

“No shit!”

“Yeah… actually, no. I don’t… I don’t recall the… wait a bit… the chords… Shit, what was it?! No, not _D_ again…”

Stoffel interrupted his attempts, looking at the phone.

“Not that I understand any of it, but here it basically says _Am_ , _Em_ , _D_ on repeat…”

“No, no, later. Chorus.” Too lazy to stand up and take a look, he besides liked to hear Stoffel Vandoorne admit he had no clue about something. That was very rare.

“ _Am_ , no, wait, _C_ , _G_ , _E_ …”

“Oh, _G_! _C_ , _G_ … Alright, thanks.” After a few tries, he found the right picking style of intro. “Been a while,” he shrugged.

“Don’t worry, I could listen to this for hours. Yeah, and always glad to find your G,” Stoffel smirked, downed his glass of soda and joined in with singing, voice cracking at higher notes. It wasn’t as unpleasant as it should’ve been. Or as it perhaps sounded to anyone else.

“ _…deprived of all his thoughts, the young man struggles on and on, he’s known a vow onto his own that never from this day, his will they’ll take away_ …”

As he was now more comfortable with the chords, he was mostly looking up and he couldn’t miss how Stoffel snuggled, almost as if subconsciously, into Nico’s side at the words, legs over the armrest of the sofa, and he spent the chorus part finding the lost rhythm after it hit him: he thought back to that talk, to the fridge where a couple of new magnets from Germany, France and Spain appeared, and realized Stoffel actually only ever had one friend. He gulped, trying not to stare at the German. _No way, what the fuck?!_

Oh, he had no idea what a song he picked! The second verse seemed like a foreshadowing of their lives. Bitter men, battling through their every day, till the end when nothing is left of their tiring lives, just regrets for everything they’ve missed – in the name of vain glitter that wasn’t gold, previous song lyrics mixing in his head… Nay. Way too much Christmas punch, Esteban. Pull yourself together.

“ _What I’ve felt, what I’ve known never shined through in what I’ve shown, never be, never see, won’t see what might have been_ …”

He let his jaw drop a little at the sight of Stoffel. The best performer can’t put in a song the feelings he doesn’t have at all. And Stoffel wasn’t any performer, just a guy singing to himself on the sofa in a common room of some ski resort cottage. This was a broken confession, a glance over the shoulder.

“… _what I’ve felt, what I’ve known never shined through in what I’ve shown, never free, never me, so I dub thee unforgiven_ …”

That must have been the most open expression Esteban has ever seen on his face. And if he wasn’t strumming the guitar, he would try to hug him, and Stoffel would push him away, and God forbid asking him about it, and all in all, good thing for both that he _was_ strumming that guitar.

“ _You labelled me, I’ll label you, so I dub thee unforgiven…_ ”

 _Who, Stoff?_ He would pull the song on forever, just to watch that unveiled Vandoorne for a bit longer, but it eventually had to end. And he was glad, on the other hand. It had been unexpectedly and exhaustingly meaningful in too many ways and he just needed to get away and deal with it. With whatever has left a mark on Stoffel for all his life, with the fact that the most sassy, lively, cheerful person he’s ever known apparently attempted a suicide… _Who knows if Lance knows_ , he wondered. Not that was going to bring it up. Although, it would be good for throwing their recent conversation back at him:

 _“Well, it doesn’t surprise me. That guy is the synonym of boring,”_ Lance shook his head in disbelief, when Esteban somehow mentioned that they don’t hang out together, “like dates and stuff.”

_“Oh, shut up, you don’t know him at all!”_

_“Do you?”_

_And you?_ Esteban now wanted to ask, as back then he had no reply. _Do you know your suicidal boyfriend?_

He let it be. Lance was suffering enough for the distance, he surely didn’t want to unsettle him on top of it. After all, Nico is still here, in his best shape, flicking mistletoe berries at people right now, all happy about his beer pong win over Checo. Should mean it won’t be that bad, right?

 

Not sure whose idea it was to move the party to the swimming pool, but the colleagues started to gather. Esteban moved to stand up, bit his lip and remained seated on the carpet by the sofa, guitar still in his lap.

“Come on, Este!” Danny called at him.

“I forgot the swimsuit.”

“Got a spare one.”

“Erm, guess I would just swim out of it,” he laughed. Danny chuckled.

“Fair enough… Such a pity. They’ve got an amazing pool here.”

Yes, Esteban saw it in the pictures. He watched the company disappear and felt an intense look at his side. He turned that way to Stoffel, who obviously didn’t join in. It was a fun activity.

“You have that swimsuit, don’t you?” he asked.

“Have you seen me naked, darling?” Esteban crooked an ironic smile.

“Hey, I thought you liked it!”

He liked the feeling, but not Stoffel’s fixation with having him “claimed” for the rest of the world to see where he belongs. Because that was how Stoffel was thinking and he was obviously turned on by the idea. _“So they see who fucks you better than they do,”_ he whispered once, before biting hard at Esteban’s shoulder blade, and the Frenchman didn’t bother with telling him “they” definitely can’t fuck him better as they don’t exist. And forced himself not to imagine what Stoffel might be doing when they were not together.

“I do. But I don’t like people staring at me, and I don’t like at all explaining anything to them.”

“Well, but this is who you are.”

“No. I am whoever people think I am. For you, I am your bitten, bruised fuckbuddy, for them I am their perfectly normal colleague. And it has to stay so. Society has its rules and boundaries, Stoffel.”

“You are normal. We are both normal.” Stoffel slid down from the sofa to sit opposite him. “We are way more normal than anyone else. Than any of them. They think normal is what you see around, in majority. Well, it’s not. I wanna see how many of them have our respect, our passion… They don’t hold a candle to what we’ve got.”

Esteban was flabbergasted. He would have never expected such a heartfelt monologue. And Stoffel nailed it in the best way he could. Looking into his phone, he read: “The pool opens at seven, if you wanna go for a swim. These boozers here will sleep at least till ten, so…”

Ocon mustered a smile. He obviously wanted to go with the boozers, because it was way more entertaining, but had to give it to Stoffel for the effort. It would’ve been nice, if he spared himself the last comment:

“Who cares about them, anyways.”

“Well, I do,” Esteban snapped. He didn’t like where this was heading. To his isolation from the world. He didn’t even realize it himself, until one day in the gym, when he went to take a shower after the work-out and noticed some weirded looks following him. He quickly washed off the soap and changed into clean clothes, all the time pondering what was wrong with him. Or rather… with his backside. _Oh shit._ As soon as he got home, he checked said part in the mirror, only to find faint reminders of their last encounter down his spine and butt to the thighs. His cheeks flamed up and he quickly put the clothes back on, although he was alone in his bathroom. _“The fuck are you doing, weirdo?!”_ he thought to himself, leaning against the wall. Yet the next time Stoffel dug the nails into his sides, dragging them down to the hips and landing a loud slap on his thigh, he only cried out in ecstatic desire, not considering any slightest protest. And lying tangled in the sheets, coming back to life, pressed against the Belgian who was caressing him, placing small kisses on burning skin, calling him his pretty boy, he felt a poignant tenderness. He stopped taking showers in the gym, because he couldn’t stop _this_.

But in such moments the regrets piled up and he just couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“It’s easy for you to say, you know.”

“What?”

“You’ve never had a life, you’ve never had friends to lose, fun to miss… I do, and I don’t wanna be just stuck with you!”

“Well then stick with them, if you can’t stand up for what you want.” Stoffel got on his feet, shoving the phone in his pocket. “Sleep with them, be like them, whatever. I thought you were better than that…”

“You don’t know what it’s like, Stoffel!” Esteban called after him, throat tightening. “To feel… wrong.”

“No?” he turned from the door. “I know quite something, baby. And I know the best way to live is not to give a fuck. About anyone. I don’t.”

“Neither about me?” Esteban asked under his breath, not sure if Stoffel heard it or not. Not sure if he wanted him to.

No, he wasn’t feeling ready to stand up for what he wanted, as for now. He had hard time enough trying to understand why he wanted it: to demean himself, begging Stoffel on his knees to fuck his throat and being called a lot of things he would normally get offended by, to be spanked and grazed and slapped and… he didn’t have inner strength left to fight the prejudices, ignore the looks and talks behind his back… He was used to standing up for himself, for the others, for ideas and opinions. But only if he was hundred percent sure of them. Now, he wasn’t. He was _confused_ , and Stoffel’s touchy pushiness was of little help. Esteban didn’t want an either/or ultimate. He wanted just a bit of understanding.

_Well, you should’ve thought of that before you fell for a goddamned egoist._

~

Despite everything, he went to the hotel swimming pool next morning. At seven twenty, the whole building was quiet, but he found a pair of flip-flops by the door and a towel thrown on one of the deckchairs. Following the splashing sounds, he spotted the only person who could use the pool at such hour.

“Hey there!” he squatted by the edge. Lance looked up, surprised.

“You’ve got the swimsuit, suddenly?”

“Found it,” he shrugged and neither of them bothered to pretend it wasn’t an outright lie. “Did you even go to sleep?” he asked to avert the attention.

“Sure I did. Three hours. I gotta burn all the shit I ate yesterday,” the Canadian crinkled his nose.

 _And all the shit you drank,_ Esteban didn’t add. He wasn’t impressed by Lance’s way of partying. Of course, he would have a drink occasionally, a few drinks if the mood was really high, but what Lance was doing since last two years or so seemed a bit too much to him. Maybe it was his former bartender-self speaking, but he had seen too many too drunk people, it became repulsive.

“Are you gonna swim or what?” Lance splashed him in the face.

“Against you?” Esteban scoffed, but threw the towel next to Lance’s one and joined him in the pool. “Give me odds, like, half a length and maybe I can compete…”

“Not my style,” Lance swam around him to jump at him from behind, “let’s just fool around…”

They were fooling around for something like two hours, between contests in holding their breath underwater, diving at the deep end inventing the most ridiculous jumps, sitting on the edge swaying their legs and chattering, putting together some artistic swimming routine and messing it up on every single try… Tiled walls echoed their boyish laughter, and they absolutely didn’t notice a certain Belgian with a towel around his neck, leaning on the doorframe watching their plays for a couple of minutes, only to bite his lip and turn to leave.

For the second time in his life, Stoffel Vandoorne felt like he wasn’t good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ("Schatje" and "lieveling" are Dutch endearments.)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! :)


	17. cause it’s all about us (that’s the thing that they can’t touch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are, however, things that go beyong the laws of exact sciences.  
> Such as looking your lover in the eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Team building trip - pt.2

He remembered Stoffel’s challenge, and who would expect a playful race between a couple didn’t know them at all. They were going at it, through falls and rises, to complete exhaustion, only took a break to drink some tea in après ski and returned on the off-piste side of the hill.

Stoffel lost his nerves for first; he glanced at his rival when overtaking him, and his skis crossed. He rolled down good twenty meters, losing all the equipment as he went, and Esteban felt his guts freeze. He stopped by to check his vital signs, dug the snowboard in the snow and climbed uphill to help him gather the skis and poles. The Belgian stepped in the bindings and before Esteban realized what was going on, he was disappearing down the slope. Ocon couldn’t believe his eyes. He followed, his heart still beating somewhere in his throat.

Stoffel waited by the end of freeride zone, shuffling in place, helmet off and balaclava rolled up revealing a content smile. Esteban stopped harshly, falling on his butt, but at the moment he didn’t care.

“And I won again.”

He couldn’t believe his ears, neither. Lost for words and high on adrenaline, he didn’t think of a better reply than to shove Stoffel with all his force. The Belgian looked perplexed, almost scared; as he was trying to pull himself up, Esteban knocked him down again with the snowboard boot.

“Enjoy some falling, don’t you?” he barked. Stoffel kicked off the skis and launched himself forward, wrestling him to the ground.

“Have you just kicked me?!”

“I would do you worse, you fucking idiot, but you can apparently kill yourself without me helping!”

“It was nothing, don’t be hysterical.”

“It looked nothing like nothing and don’t be such an asshole!” Esteban felt his voice giving up. “Why do you always have to fuck everything up?”

Stoffel pinned him down.

“What have I fu…?”

“At any cost, Stoffel? If it was me, you would just shit on me and go on for the win?”

“What the hell, I knew I was okay!”

“That’s not the point, it just wasn’t fair.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll let you win next time.”

“That’s not the point, neither.”

Stoffel shoved a handful of snow behind his collar.

“You’re a sore loser, that’s the point.”

“You dick!” Esteban squealed. “You’ll regret this…”

They were rolling in the snow, gasping for air and laughing, until Stoffel pulled him down for a kiss and spread his legs for Esteban to grind between them.

“Oh fuck, I miss you,” he murmured.

“Do you miss just the fuck, or also me?” Esteban asked, mouthing his neck.

“Blow me up there,” Stoffel said suddenly, and Esteban looked around to see what his eyes were laid on. Ski lift cabins were moving slowly against the cloudy sky.

“Seriously?!” Then again, why not? The slopes weren’t too crowded anymore, they could get a cabin for themselves. And frankly, none of them enjoyed hushed sex that would expect them in the cottage. This seemed way more exciting.

 

There was a lone skier lining up with them. Esteban stepper to the side pretending to lace his boots to let the woman pass. Next in the row was a family with three children that would obviously wait for a ride on their own, so the guys got their desired privacy. He sat across from Stoffel, like normal people on ski lifts do, and as soon as they left the station, he slid on his knees, fumbling with the Belgian’s snow trousers.

“A few feet closer to the mile-high club,” Stoffel commented, looking through the transparent walls.

“That’s your dream? Gotta take me for a trip and we could arrange something,” Esteban winked, eventually somehow freed his boner from thermo layers and licked at it. “How long, twenty minutes to the top? Boy, you’re gonna suffer…”

“Don’t be a usual revengeful ass,” Stoffel winced. Plump lips closed around him, sucking lightly, tongue sliding over the slit and he was getting sweaty; it was excruciating and amazing, but as much as he wanted to abandon himself in wet pleasure, he had to check the surroundings. “Get me off,” he demanded, eyeing the top station. Esteban kept doing his slow thing, though. “Fuck you, I gotta come,” Stoffel grasped at his nape, forcing him to put up pace, but just as he dug his heels in the floor and took a sharp breath, Esteban pulled away squeezing the base of his shaft.

“Shit, bad timing,” he shrugged, suppressing the smirk. “Well, next time… I would zip up, being in you.”

“What exactly have you just done?!” the dumbstruck Belgian shook his head, stepping out of the lift.

“A favor that you don’t even deserve,” Esteban laughed. “Move your ass, no? The sooner we’re down, the sooner we can continue this…”

They continued through two more rides and Stoffel had to admit it was worth the wait, when eventually Ocon sucked him through his brain-melting orgasm, sat back as if nothing happened and laughed at Stoffel’s face of pleased disbelief.

“Well, I am gross, but not to the point of spitting cum on the floor in public places. Take it as a Christmas present,” he licked at his teeth and gulped down. Stoffel wouldn’t mind doing it all over again at the sight, but the operating hours were coming to end. So he just leaned over to peck him and his last thought before stepping out into the cold real world was that dammit, he has to make that guy pay for this – and make him come at least this hard – once they are at home. And he had an idea how.

He didn’t mean to let him win, although Esteban’s scolding look was saying he didn’t believe it. He had considered tripping over once more, just to see that concern in the Frenchman’s face again, but he was beaten up enough from that first time. They called it quits with overall score of Stoffel’s six wins over Esteban’s three, with the dubious race being cancelled.

“Only because you won anyways,” Esteban snorted, as Stoffel generously offered that compensation. He was, mildly speaking, frustrated, he has always considered himself a pretty awesome rider. Never comparing with the skiers, though. “When do you have time to keep in shape?” he huffed. “You never even take holidays!”

“I do. One week. To go skiing.”

Skis and snowboard on their shoulders, they were walking to the cottage.

“Still, you did better than I expected,” Stoffel commented. At ironic snort he got in response, he shook his head. “It wasn’t about you, you know? I didn’t want to tell you that in advance, but physically speaking, you didn’t stand a chance. The larger the surface, the more kinetic energy gets lost due to friction, right? Yeah, it turns into heat that melts the snow, ergo lubricates the bottom…” A silly chuckle that didn’t quite fit the academic speech. “The bottom of the surface, that is. However, that isn’t any crucially relevant, given the other factors… It could be an interesting friction problem, but I don’t know exactly the coefficients, by heart… However, that plus the position of a skier which is more aerodynamical, with the center of mass easier to keep, whereas on board, it easily strays beyond the edge, thus you need to keep it in control all the time, especially when changing direction, which doesn’t allow you to, let’s say, let go and speed excessively… Also, I am a tad heavier than you, I suppose, which contributes to the speed. But unfortunately, the human factor exists, and it has to be taken in consideration, so… congrats on thirty percent success,” he concluded.

Esteban stumbled a few times as they went, listening with his jaw dropped.

“What have you studied, actually?”

“Plenty of bullshit.”

“From what field?”

“Don’t I sound like a business-and-management person to you?” Stoffel clutched a hand to his chest, mock offended. “No, really, shame on you, Ocon, what I explained was some elementary high-school physics!”

Possible, but Esteban surely didn’t remember it. He never loved the subject more than necessary for having grades sufficient to get him a scholarship.

“Sorry, but I found it quite useless for my life.”

“And then you can’t get over losing a race you couldn’t have won.”

“I have. Three times.”

“Thanks to my mistakes.”

“Your bad if you made them,” Esteban shrugged.

“It’s not useless, it’s everything. Sports are all about physics, as you could see. Music is pure maths, when you break it down…”

“Well, how about food?”

“What’s with it? Calories and the nutritive values you need for healthy living, that’s my food for you.”

Truly, he was far from a gourmand, Esteban had noticed that. He was simply eating because it meant staying alive and well.

“So, the feelings? Love?”

“I’m talking real stuff here.”

“Feelings are real.”

“No, they aren’t. What is real are hormonal activity and… maybe sympathies for a compatible person? Well, if we talk about a man and a woman, it’s the need for reproduction, and as we all know, once they have complied it all goes downwards pretty often…”

“And if we talk about a man and a man?”

Stoffel didn’t reply with an excuse of storing his gear in the locker.

“So, dinner first or first the brainwash?” he asked leaving the ski room.

“Uh… I don’t like eating in a hurry.”

“Alright, Frenchy. Haute cuisine needs time, I get it… Well, I’m starving. See you,” he took the stairs for his room to get changed and have a quick meal before involving in the team building activity.

He stopped in his tracks and leaning over the wooden railing, called after Esteban, who was left fairly confused until he figured out what it was referring to. He was getting better at it, though, with practice, as Stoffel would always return to previous topics without a warning, still thinking of them besides any other matter discussed:

“Guess it’s a glitch in the system.”

~

That day activity turned out to be “Find the silver lining.” Basically, the employees were divided into pairs, one of them had to share a negative experience while the other tried to find positive aspects of it. Esteban found it truly amusing. He did his best to fight his vicious side: he consoled Danny over the break-up with his girlfriend saying he has more free time, doesn’t have to come home before midnight and absolutely doesn’t have to wait for her while she decides whatever thing she needs to decide… Then he convinced Checo that having a puppy doesn’t only mean much more cleaning and waking up even earlier, but the daily walks contribute to his health and it brings a lot of joy when the pup looks up at him with those literal puppy eyes…

It was an enjoyable game. He told them about a failed exam that he had to take again after Christmas, about that time when he was kicked out of the movie theatre he was working in, because he was letting some friends in for free, when the screening room was half empty which, in his opinion, was absolutely reasonable thing to do, but well, the bosses…

The participants were tossing Stoffel like a hot potato. He wasn’t looking for any silver lining, only making it worse, and when asked about his negative story, he would purposefully find one that had something to do with his current partner, leaving them uncomfortable and not much willing to continue the game.

“So what, saboteur, what do you have to say about me?” Esteban smiled when they ended up together. Stoffel narrowed his eyes.

“Something like two weeks ago I had my car in repair cause some dickhead scratched my door when parking, because fucking people must park next to you in empty parking lot, especially if they can’t do it well… And I took a cab, I argued with the driver about his awful music he had playing there until he finally turned it off, there was disgusting vanilla smell and he didn’t want to open the windows because cold and shit, I had to pay for an hour of suffering and next four hours of headache… What was nice about it, tell me?”

“That wasn’t about me.”

“Does it have to be?”

“I was just curious.”

“Find the lining.”

“Well… you know how to put people in difficult position,” Esteban sighed. “Erm… you… didn’t have to drive in New York traffic, for once.”

“But I like it.”

“You perv.”

“Ah, you know me…”

“They shouldn’t let us near each other in public.”

“No, definitely not. Can we agree there is no silver lining to this?”

“Guess we can, yeah. You put it so desperately negatively that I’m really helpless here.”

“Awesome. Your story?”

“Well, I don’t know… once I went snowboarding, had a little race with one guy who doesn’t know his limits and limits of anything and obviously fell flat on his face, scaring the shit out of me, and instead of, I don’t know, being glad I stopped by and just saying he was okay, no, he just got up and took off…”

Stoffel scratched his nape.

“Guess the good thing is he _was_ okay?” he tried and when Esteban didn’t look convinced, he scratched harder, brows furrowing in thoughts. “And maybe… if you told him about this, he would… understand some things and… it might serve him well for the next time. I’m sure he didn’t mean to leave you… upset, I guess he just didn’t think you would be.”

“Oh. I’ll try to tell him,” Esteban smirked.

 

Stoffel kept him company at the dinner. Glancing at his phone every now and then, he was scribbling something in his day planner, deep lines wrinkling his forehead in focus. As he left the work unattended for a moment, taking a sip of tea, Esteban snatched it to have a look. The page was covered in calculations, weights, angles, weird signs…

“Just having a bit of fun,” Stoffel shrugged, taking it back with a cocky smile. He loved being admired, and Esteban occasionally let his deep admiration show, because why not? He deserved it.

“Yeah, I studied maths, minoring in physics,” he continued after a while, “so… not exactly my thing, but I should be able to calculate it.”

Esteban frowned. From what he knew, Stoffel came to the company from the business programme. He was always getting all irritated at mention of the studies, though, so Ocon decided not to pry.

“And you’re wasting yourself here?”

“I’m not wasting myself, I’m where I wanna be.” He scratched something out. “Well, not quite, but getting there,” he smiled – if Esteban didn’t know him, he would say dreamily. “There and beyond.” He sipped at the tea and put a hand under his chin, writing down his calculations.

_And in the meanwhile you kill your free time with solving chess compositions, inventing useless physical problems, just having a bit of fun..._

Esteban had understood time ago that their ideas of fun somewhat differed. And that Stoffel Vandoorne was a very unique human being, on that edge of intellect bordering with insanity. It was strangely attractive.

 

~

 

Nico gave a knowing look when by untold agreement he was leaving their shared room.

“Have fun,” he smirked and went his way, but the problem was, Stoffel wasn’t in a mood for fun. That agonizing blowjob earlier in the day lifted the tension and now he just felt strange need for… closeness.

The closest he could get.

Holding his breath, he studied in awe the slightest changes in the Frenchman’s face as he was inching into him, intense gaze sending a shiver down his spine and forcing him to eventually drop his eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice unusually heavy with emotions.

“About time you noticed,” Ocon winked, but the weight of Stoffel’s fascinated statement remained in the air around them, like a baldachin enveloping them in their small little world of trust and intimacy, in those precious moments when Stoffel let his walls tumble down, only to pick them up, brick by brick, before the sun goes up, to meet the day with steely steadiness.

Warm palms stroking his shoulders, heels digging into lower back, hot mouth glued to his, and the whole perfect day that was ending, it was all too much on him. He lightly pushed Esteban away.

“Sorry,” he whispered, voice faltering even in those two syllables, “I thi…” He breathed deeply in and out. “I think I’m gonna fall apart if I come…”

“ _When_ you come. Don’t worry, I’ll hold you together.” Esteban framed his face, suggestively wrapping the legs tighter around him. “C’mon, Stoffi, just come for me…”

Was it the diminutive so tender he was sure he’d never heard from anyone before, or the longing kiss, Stoffel didn’t care how it looked, anymore; pressed to the lean body beneath, he buried his face in the pillow and choked on his ragged breaths; Esteban held him really tight, felt his heart pounding against his own chest as he was kissing his damp neck and shoulder.

“I’ve got you, Stoffi,” he cupped his nape. “This was perfect. Just plain perfect.”

“Like, what else were you expecting?” a mumble came from the pillow, shaky but so _Stoffel_.

“Nothing else. Maybe a bit more swearing and hair-pulling, where have you left those?”

“Thought you were up for a sweet love-making, for once, missionary and all… Turns out I overrated you, huh?”

“Indeed. I’m every inch as low as you thought.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for the next time.”

The sole purpose of that empty exchange was to talk Stoffel out of the awkwardness he would have slipped into, and deep down he knew and appreciated, although taken aback a bit by how clearly his colleague saw through him, and a bit freaked out by realizing it wasn’t even freaking him out.

He also knew Esteban wanted exactly this, all along. And he was proud he delivered.

 

On the pretext of narrow mattress, they lied squeezed together. Breathing the menthol scent of Stoffel’s hair, Esteban was wondering if this closeness would last, once they were back to his California king bed.

A decent knock on the door startled him. Waking the Belgian up was next to impossible, and he didn’t think he would survive the shame of answering the door if it was by chance any of their colleagues; he just lied there, stiffened. The knock again, and amused hushed voice:

“Can I get into my room, please?”

He wriggled into the jeans; pulling the hoodie over his head and grabbing some wrinkled clothes that he reckoned were his t-shirt and boxers, he went for the door.

“Sorry,” he opened them, “I’m gone.”

Nico patted his shoulder, glancing to the sides.

“Not that I mind, I was better where I was, too, but there are all sorts of morons around here that would never understand you two.”

 _I don’t understand us neither_ , Esteban thought. He already stopped trying. He returned the pat and quietly went to where, he supposed, Nico just came from – his and Lance’s room.

They still somehow managed to pass for merely buddies, Stoffel and himself, maybe a kind of friends but not much else. And Esteban definitely preferred it that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, hope I haven’t bored the pants off you with these two yet... (can’t help it, sorry XD)  
> N&L in next chapter :)


	18. (perfect paradise) tearing at the seams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Christmas together with a small misunderstanding.  
> A Christmas apart without love and joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or: a Jew and a Christian, an indifferent Frenchman and a Stoffel at Christmas time

"Oh," Nico halted him at the sight of receptionist. "Give me a second, Lancey, I wanna ask her something before I forget it again..." He walked over to the counter. Lance plunged himself in a cozy armchair.

As planned, when the teambuilding was over, they moved from the cottage their company had rented to a hotel suit to stay in the resort for the next few days. Covering the Christmas Eve, which was today. Lance was watching the wood cracking in lobby fireplace. Socks with chubby Santas and cute reindeers were hanging from the mantel adorned with holly garlands, and there was an impressive Christmas tree right by the entrance, with “presents” of various sizes and shapes arranged underneath it.

Of course, he was used to all that, but it always stirred a strange feeling in him, that he doesn’t belong to all that light and sparkle, he couldn’t really feel it inside. It was a beautiful, glowing, joyful time that for him meant simply the same songs and movies over and over, crowded shopping centres and unnaturally kind, smiling strangers.

However, he never felt any need for polemics. He fully respected his boyfriend’s faith and beliefs (and vice versa; Nico didn’t blink an eye when he saw a menorah sitting on the windowsill, asked about the exact meaning and other traditions instead), and he definitely could find himself a programme for that hour of midnight mass.

He accompanied Nico to the chapel. A small building at the foot of the slope, there were already some other resort guests gathering. After assuring the German two more times that he really was okay with it, Lance went for a walk around the resort, breathing in fresh smell of pines and snow.

He actually could feel some of that famous Christmas peace now. In frenetic, pulsating New York it was impossible. He has never learned to appreciate the city life. He felt lost.

Here, he was just fine. Everything was quietly bathing in warm light, ski rentals, souvenir shops and restaurants closed, but he could hear some music playing from afar.

_Why are there so many lonely people?_ Lance stopped to think, recalling how they discussed _A Christmas Carol_ by Dickens’ in English classes. _Especially at this time of year…_ Is it their own inner exile they’d casted themselves in, cutting everybody off, or are they such terrible that there’s literally no one who cares? Because it’s not easy to become lonely, Lance has found out. Like, _really_ lonely. He wasn’t. Alone, sure, most of the time. But not lonely.

He snatched a few pine twigs and unsure of how the staff would look at that, zipped them under the jacket and went to their room to tidy up a bit. He arranged the twigs on the bed in shape of heart, checked once more if the gift was wrapped nicely enough, then remembered he should have texted Esteban and after doing so, went to take a shower. All the time he was carefully avoiding eye contact with the minibar.

 

~

 

For once he wanted Stoffel with his sleeping pills nearby. So used to getting up at six o’clock that after he had acclimatized to the local time, he couldn’t get himself to oversleep. He was waking up to quiet, dark house instead of enjoying the lazy days as he had desired to.

He reached out for the phone and rubbing his eyes, unlocked the screen. Many new notifications from the US overnight. High school classmates he had barely heard from in last five years, various ex-colleagues and random people whose usernames didn’t ring a bell after all that time, had sent him banal wishes full of “love”, “joy” and “happiness”. Scrolling down, he replied to some by pasting a similar generic sentence and looked for anything interesting.

_Canuck <3_

He felt his lips involuntarily curl up as he tapped on the chat icon.

_\- Merry xmas Tebi!! hope u r having goof time at home? -_

_\- *good XD -_

«Both :P» he texted back.

«Thank you baby <3 have a nice holiday too!! :* »

He stopped for a moment, looking at the bubbles with his messages. He might as well stop being overly affectionate. Could be a part of the reason why Lance was distancing himself. If only it wasn’t a habit so difficult to break… He tried to think of anything light-hearted to add, and then realized it didn’t really matter. One lame message more or less, he’s already made an idiot out of himself time ago. And Lance surely wasn’t too bothered by it, he had his own life. And right now, he was sleeping, anyways, or having a good time with his boyfriend.

_A real good time._

Esteban wasn’t all that sincere in his reply. He was always looking forward to coming home, and always ended with the same dismay. Or, well, if he was absolutely honest with himself, he was convincing himself to look forward, as he considered it right.

The problem is, he has left too young and been gone for too long, the bonds that he hadn’t made before were missing.

He was hanging out with as many old pals as possible in those few days, just to remind them of himself for the next six months or so… A poor percentage of those people who were viewing his stories and sending wishes on occasions were actually worth his time and even fewer were those with whom he had something to talk about, yet he wanted to keep them, at least in the number on friends and followers lists.

Christmas markets, cinema, café, Christmas markets again, with friends and their friends he didn’t know, their one-season girlfriends or boyfriends he never saw again, empty talks, silly laughs, awkward pauses. Work or studies – only interesting for so long, private life – a bunch of lies made up impromptu without too much thinking (and then, when asked about some Caitlin half a year later, he couldn’t remember who the hell she was supposed to be). They all loved listening about paradise behind the ocean, but after a while envy got too strong to hide and he better stopped painting them magnificent pictures of skyscrapers and wide floodlit boulevards, narrating the stories of a young aspiring sales manager in a big city, and asked what they had new instead. And then pretended to pay attention to petty small-town gossips he couldn’t care less about, they didn’t concern him in the slightest…

He felt like a showcase – _“that friend from America I was telling you about…”_ He remembered well when, some three years ago, “in America” became “from” and found it painfully accurate. He was a stranger there. With his clothes, with his thinking, with his lifestyle.

What was even worse, he felt the same way around his family. He was the second youngest of the siblings and had very little in common with them and as much as he loved his parents, he didn’t feel that deep connection. He wasn’t their little boy anymore, they haven’t seen him grow up and he didn’t want to face them with who he’s become. He was safe six thousand kilometers away, leading a life he didn’t want to account for to them: his relationships, his overpacked time schedule, his health…

He was a skilled liar, but still decent enough to feel bad about lying to his parents. Out of immense respect he had for them, he didn’t want discussions, neither. And absolutely didn’t want to disappoint them or unsettle them with his problems. As a result, he preferred to interact as little as possible. Sure, he was sending them a lot of photos, presents, but talks were always making him tense.

Despite everything, he was still coming back, and still less thought of it as coming home.

 

~

 

Nico returned to find his boyfriend on the sofa, watching some very Christmas movie.

“Trying to understand me?” he nudged him.

“Well, what I understand is that it’s a lovely holiday, seriously. Brings people together. And anyways, not nearly all of them are actually religious, I guess, so… I prefer someone who knows what he stands for,” Lance smiled. “And… I have a kinda gift for you,” he bit his lip on his way to the bedroom and much to Nico’s horror, came back with a soft package.

“Wha… Lance! I thought…  I mean, I don’t have anything for you, I…” he stammered, holding his head.

“Hey, that’s fine, I just thought, you know, you are used to getting presents…”

“But…”

“Don’t. It’s a super annoying song, but all I wanted for Christmas was you and you’re here,” he winked, holding out the pack.

“Oh dear,” Nico shook his head. _Such a gift_ , he huffed mentally, _I should wrap myself in Christmas paper and suffocate there…_ He stared at the colorful mess lying in his lap. “What the heck…” He held it up to find it was a patchwork blanket. Lost for words, he studied the pieces of cloth and suddenly recognized a Lance’s t-shirt among them.

“Hey, wait! You… made this yourself?”

“With Tati. She’s pretty great at these things, and she gave me some of her clothes for it, too, they had, you know, nicer colours. It’s a very basic seam, actually, I just hope it will hold it together at least for a while,” he chuckled. “And I really hope it will fit well on that hideous sofa of yours, cause that was the idea, but I only kinda guessed the size… but you don’t have to put it there, or anywhere, it’s not any great, I just…”

Dumbstruck Nico finally realized that Lance won’t stop his anxious rambling any soon himself and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Thank you so, so much, love, I can’t even begin to tell you how lovely it is.”

“Really?”

“Of course! I don’t think I will put it on the sofa, though, sorry, but I guess it wouldn’t last much if I sit on it. I can skype with you at kitchen table, though, if you hate it this much,” he laughed.

Lance ran a hand over the blanket. He had a lot of fun working on it. Dreary November evenings were passing much faster spent at Tatiana’s place, choosing and measuring the pieces, cutting and sewing them, sharing stories and secrets… Sometimes, he felt that day by day, without looking in the future, his life could be bearable like this. Empty and useless, but bearable.

“Do you still have any dreams?” he blurted out. Nico looked at him with sad surprise.

“Don’t you? I… well, I guess that dreams just change with time. You know, become a bit more… affordable,” he snorted. “You don’t dream of flying in the space in your thirties anymore…”

“Did you? Before?”

“Show me a boy that never, never ever wanted to be an astronaut,” Nico laughed.

“Me?”

“No?!”

Lance shrugged.

“Oh, I was obsessed! I loved to play with spaceships, then my Dad built me a wooden one in the backyard that, you know, you could go inside, it was pretty dark in there and there was a kinda dashboard, a seat with belts from our old car, and I would get in there with some food and stay there the whole afternoon, pretending I was talking to the engineers, saying _«_ _Houston, we have a problem_ _»_ very dramatically, and oh God, I almost died every time, but I miraculously accomplished the missions and landed on probably all the known planets,” he laughed. “Then it stopped being a game, when I started to think a bit, about the sense of existing and… somehow, it occurred to me that the answer is… somewhere up there, in the stardust and starlight, and once you’ve been there and seen it… you won’t want to come back. Some bullshit, isn’t it?” he shook his head with a small smile and Lance surely didn’t think it was a bullshit, it was just too deep for his shallow thinking to react. “See, and now I’m flying, just a bit lower. And always want to come back.”

“So, what are your affordable dreams now?”

“About affordable I’m not sure, but I dream of a lifetime with you.” Without a second of hesitation, and it didn’t sound like a joke. Lance felt his cheeks heating up.

“I’m pretty sure that one can come true,” he stuttered.

“But what’s with you, Lancey?” Nico squeezed his hand and rested the forehead against his temple.

“I don’t know.” That was a shy step from “nothing” to admitting it was something. “Guess I’m just… tired.” _Of everything._

“Oh. Well… you’ve got two more days to rest,” Nico smiled. “And… we can find you a dream, in the meantime. What do you want, in life?”

“To make my parents proud.”

That came quick and unexpected and he couldn’t really think of a reply other than a vague:

“I’m pretty sure they are already proud of you. Okay, and… the summer holidays?” he settled for a closer goal. “You and me and seven days of bliss where?”

Lance sat up, suddenly excited.

“Seven days?”

“That’s the count, yeah. Would mean less days off during the year, but…”

“No, that’s fine! I want seven days of summer in bliss… what?! Of… yeah, and where? Where… where have you never been?”

Nico had to laugh at that.

“You’ve got a bit of an idolized image of my job. I’ve traveled the United States and quite a bit of Europe, yeah, but… I haven’t really seen much of it. Airports, hotels, business people, snobby dinners. That’s my life, Lancey. I don’t go sightseeing.”

Lance nodded. He knew that kind of travels, although less tied up but just as exhausting.

“Yeah, I can imagine. So?”

“So? This is your dream.”

“Where is some nice sea in Europe?”

“Wanna go to Europe? Well, Sardinia is a dazzling place. Italy,” he explained as Lance pursed his lips in confusion.

“I’m such an idiot,” he sighed.

“Why?!”

“At geography.” _Just as at pretty much anything._

“Well, you can learn some,” Nico winked, typing _Sardinia_ in google. He handed over the page with pictures and watched Lance’s eyes go wide as he swiped though them.

“Oh God… oh yes,” he looked up, “that will definitely be the bliss.”

They spent quite a while browsing the accommodations, but all the photos of beautiful bedrooms and implications of what they would do in them soon led them to move into their own bed.

 

Threading his fingers through bleached strands, Lance thought that his slip of tongue wasn’t such a slip. He felt like that vacation was going to be his only days of summer. In the rays of his sunshine.

“I love you, Nico,” he whispered, careful not to break comfortable silence. It was a whole different thing, to say it in person, feel the embrace tightening, warm breath against his neck as the German replied with:

“Lancey… thank you so much. I love you, too.”

He drifted off with an image of turquoise bay, pine trees and rosy sand, featherlight curtains waving in salty breeze through the terrace doors, and Nico on the terrace, fresh and relaxed, and for a while he felt something coming to life inside of him, that resembled happiness. _Thank you, thank you, thank you_ , was his last thought, hugging his sleeping lover to his chest.

Seven months to go. He can make it.

He felt like a bad patchwork. Scraps of the others’ ideas and expectations torn from here and there, put all in one, creating a chaos.

He _has_ _to_ make it. Keep himself together. For Nico.

 

~

 

“Can I have your number?” the guy licked his lips.

“You can have my fifty bucks if you shut up and do it quick.” Better to set things straight right from the beginning.

“I’m not a whore!” he exclaimed.

“Have I called you a whore? Suck or go, won’t see you again either way.”

The guy considered it for a few seconds measured by Stoffel’s fingertips tapping on the wash basin, then dropped on the floor. He was going at it with full dedication, but nothing compared to… Stoffel shut his eyes tighter, but he couldn’t get rid of the image of slender fingers wrapping around him, almost black orbits looking up at him cheekily…

The guy wiped his mouth and stared with unsure expectation in wide eyes. _What is it with sweet boys liking me_ , Stoffel was always wondering, _poor little self-destructive things…_

“Know you’re not a whore, give it to some charity,” he left the bill on the basin and walked off.

This was wrong in all thinkable ways and the worst part was _he_ _was_ _actually_ _thinking_ _of_ _them_.

Of how the guy must have felt right now, left there on wet floor with a bulge in his pants and fifty-dollar worth of shame.

_Of_ _Esteban_ , no matter how much he was trying to block him out.

Of himself. Oddly enough, in the last place. Even more oddly, in terms of _“you’re such a piece of crap, Vandoorne, why do you always need to crush every sprout of something beautiful, before it blossoms out?”_

Was it Nico’s teasing, or the joke about the trip together, or what Esteban told him that night at the cottage, when Stoffel said that fuck was about him: _“I’ve got a secret for you, Stoff: it should always be about us…”_

Either way, he panicked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Off topic: on this day, please, send a thought to Charlie, for his dedicated service to out beloved sport.


	19. the place that feels the tears (the place to lose your fears)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stumbling down the thin line between paradise and war zone, two egoists try to commit.  
> Pure, dirty and raw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Zayn’s Pillowtalk sums them up just about perfectly. Pain and pleasure, pissed off neighbours…  
> Listen to it, folks, if you haven’t yet! ;)

Not only that escapade failed to make him feel better, it has left him feeling much worse. A strange emptiness settled inside, as if his guts dissipated and he was filled with suffocating cotton wool. It was scary. And fifteen minutes of patronizing Jolyon, bringing him close to tears, didn’t make it any better. Now that was serious.

Esteban came to him during the break with a cup of coffee and a soft smile.

“How’s it going?” he leaned against the table. “Have you had your daily share of satisfying spats?”

Stoffel sighed.

“Not yet. A dull day, today.” Though he wasn’t sure any amounts of arguments could fill in that empty space. Much to his confusion, he didn’t feel like getting physical with Esteban, since he came back from France. Little did he know that was what people call _shame_. But it felt awful, and he couldn’t see a way out, because the more he was avoiding him, making up lame excuses about too much work and splitting headache (gosh, how girly can one man get?!), the more wrong it all seemed.

The awkwardness went on and on until one evening, when he took Ocon to his place to overcome it. But instead of getting all over him as planned, he merely offered him a drink.

“Look, if for whatever reason you don’t want me, just say it, you know,” Esteban said after a few minutes of absolutely meaningless talk.

“Yeah, I don’t. I mean…” That pained look was gone in a blink of eye, but Stoffel noticed it and lost his trail. “No, I want you, I… I want to want you, just…”

“Just that you don’t. Shit happens, it’s fine.”

There was nothing fine about Esteban twirling the coke with lemon in his glass before downing it and sliding down from the bar stool.

“Guess I’m in the way here, then,” he said flatly.

“No! Don’t go, don’t… please,” Stoffel said quietly. Not really his word. Esteban leaned on the doorframe.

“Anything else to tell me?” When he got no reply, he cocked his head with an ironic smile. “Of course not. Who was I kidding…” It was a blind shot, but something was telling him to try it: “Hope he’s at least worth it.” Still, he was hoping he would miss. Stoffel twitched.

“No, he’s not. He wasn’t,” he corrected. Esteban snorted.

“One can’t leave you alone for a week, huh?”

“No… it’s not that, I… it was one blowj…”

“I can go without the details, thank you,” he cringed. And Stoffel followed golden rule that the best defense is an attack.

“What do you want?! You’ve got your freedom, I want mine!”

“Have I restricted it in any way?! What are you talking about?”

“Then don’t look at me like I betrayed you or something,” he snapped. “You’re not my boyfriend, you’re noth…” He better stopped himself as Esteban narrowed his eyes threateningly. “I’ve never held you back, you can do whatever you want, with whoever you want.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t. I don’t want to.”

“Me neither, that’s the point!”

“What? Get your head checked already, seriously. A friendly advice.”

“Why is it even such a deal?!” he exclaimed. “It’s a fucking one-night stand, it’s not like I like them more than you, or… care about them or stuff, it’s… just that, is it so hard to understand?”

“Is it so hard to understand I have a bit of fucking dignity left?!”

“What does your dignity have to do with my life?!”

 _I thought I was some small, insignificant part of it_. Ocon shut his eyes. He so knew it. Weeks, months of finding ways around him, trying to understand that outrageous character and get under his skin, of holding back, taking it easy… all for nothing?

 _After all, you’ve been warned_ , he thought of Nico. The bronco Stoffel was standing still for suspiciously long, it was his time to prance.

Esteban felt thrown off the saddle.

“Apparently nothing,” he shrugged. “But why so nervous then?”

“I’m not nervous, you’re pissing me off!”

“You were nervous way before I started pissing you off.”

“Well, you’re not helping much… Weren’t you leaving, actually?”

“Actually, I was, thanks for reminding me.”

The slam of the door took Stoffel back to a similar evening, nearly half a year ago. That time, though, he didn’t throw a glass after him. And definitely didn’t feel this shitty, not knowing why because honestly, he hasn’t done anything, right? He didn’t cheat or stuff, they weren’t in a relationship, or… or were they? Their fling was lasting a bit too long to be a fling anymore, but he couldn’t put it on any other shelf.

He had none.

Time to get one, maybe. Esteban was making him feel too good to let him go like this.

He swiped the shatters away with his foot and peeked out in the corridor.

 

While they are sort of together, there is some percentual chance of getting laid again. If they aren’t, the chance is zero. That was some mathematics even Ocon could do. Hence why he didn’t want to leave, afraid that once he’d be gone, Stoffel wouldn’t even try to get him back.

 _So, he went with some guy. Lance was screwing up too, now he has a boyfriend and behaves._ Deep down he knew it was completely different story, the two were completely different. Yet, it was the only thing to cling to.

At the click of opened door his guts fell. Embarrassing much, to be leaning by the lift, like, three minutes after storming out of someone’s flat? But immediately he felt his self-confidence bouncing back. _Not that Stoffel needs to know._

“Well, hello there,” he cocked his head with a triumphant knew-it grin. No matter that he didn’t know anything at all until a few seconds ago.

“Hey… I’m sorry, okay?” Words echoed in empty hallway, as if to underline they were really pronounced. Stoffel, for whom “ _sorry”_ was merely a word to utter automatically when you step on someone’s foot or knock over his drink, the proud, presumptuous Vandoorne clenched his fists with a defeated: “Forgive me.”

“Is that an order? Cause we’re not in bed here, Stoff…”

“Holy fuck, why are you so goddamn bitchy?!”

“Goes with sexy and awesome. I can’t be perfect, you know.”

“You’re far from perfect, don’t worry..."

“Still closer than you."

"...especially when discussing in the hallway like some bitch.”

"Not that anyone can think worse than they do already of us,” he motioned his hand around the hall. “And try to call me something bitch-related again…”

“Bitchy bitch,” Stoffel pronounced with a bold look. Esteban shook his head in disbelief.

“You’re such a child, sometimes…”

“I just tried,” he shrugged. “Wanna see what comes down on me.”

“Do you?” the Frenchman crooked a smile and walked back into the flat.

“Letting me take the last remnants of your dignity away?” Stoffel smirked and Esteban bit his tongue, eyeing the pieces of glass on the floor.

_How about taking away a bit of yours, huh?_

“I’ve played my part here,” he looked at the silent Belgian after a while.

“I said I’m sorry, what else?!” Stoffel threw his arms in the air, despaired.

“Once again and in my face, please.”

He sighed and straightened up, hands on his hips.

“I’m sorry.”

“For?” Esteban almost laughed at the helpless gaze, as if he really couldn’t tell what he did wrong. “For being a complete asshole, screwing around behind my back? Without even having as much decency as to tell me?” he suggested. “For making me feel like shit for not being enough for you? For calling me a bitch twice in one minute for no reason at all? For…”

“Got it, thanks,” Stoffel cut him off, bringing a hand to his nape, what Esteban had figured out was his main nervous tic, eyes on the floor. Esteban grasped at his upstanding fringe, holding his head up.

“Say it,” he tugged at the hair, and Stoffel felt his lips quiver as he brought out:

“I’m sorry for being a complete asshole, screwing behind your back and making you feel like shit because you definitely are more than enough… And you’re not a bitch. _Please_ , forgive me, Esteban, I’m really sorry…” He took a shy step back, glass cracking under his feet, clasped both hands behind his neck and bowed his head, just as much as uncomfortable hold on his hair was allowing him to.

Swear to God, he couldn’t recall a single time in his life he’d cried. Now Esteban broke open some pretty rusty floodgates. All of his confusion, self-denial, doubts, regrets, anxieties were pouring out in hot burning streams down his face while he was stuttering: “I di… I didn’t want to… I mean, I… I wanted to prove myself it didn’t really matter… but it did, it _does_ , I…”

“What?”

“Us.” He looked up with what could only be described as pure fear, and quickly dropped the watery eyes again. “I… I tried to… not to think of you all the time, but… I couldn’t, it was so shitty… fuck, I couldn’t even get it up…”

“My god, so young? My sympathies…” Esteban snorted, but let go of his hair, stroked them gently instead. He recalled another prophecy. His own one, from about nine months ago, when in that cold sunless May he swore revenge. _One day you’ll come begging me, bastard._ Here he is. Crying, even. Was it for self-pity or true regret, Ocon expected anything but tears from him and didn’t know what to do. It was astonishing and he wanted him to cry his eyes out, if it meant something would actually change.

And at the same time longed to just squeeze him and suffocate him with all the love Stoffel never knew and felt. Losing himself, not understanding what the hell was going on, with his beliefs twisting and his defenses crumbling, Esteban couldn’t let him down _now_. Payback could wait for a while. (Despite being tempted to knock Stoffel down on his knees and finally get one fucking blowjob from him, he realized that it would probably cross the line and he wouldn’t enjoy it as much as he would like to. If Stoffel would comply at all. More likely he wouldn’t.)

Unable of any more efficient escape, the Belgian had backed down a few more steps till he felt his back hitting the wall and pressed into it, swallowing embarrassing sobs and trying in vain to blink back the tears. A thumb brushed over his cheek; at soft wet sound he opened his eyes to see a blurry picture of Esteban sucking on the finger before cupping his face. No forcing to look up anymore, and he hesitantly leaned into the touch.

“Look, I know it’s…” Esteban cleared his throat. Oh God, why is it so difficult?! Maybe it only feels this awkward with Stoffel, he couldn’t know, with Lance there was never need for any heart-to-heart talks. (Or maybe there was, and he just didn’t see it, might be why in the end it fell apart…) “I mean, I can’t know, but I imagine it’s hard for you and… weird and stuff, but… you don’t have to fight for respect all the time – me, yourself, the whole fucking world… You’ll still be you, if you feel something. Just don’t push yourself into your old life, if you don’t feel like it anymore, you only hurt us both. And don’t be scared, you have absolutely nothing to. It’s okay, Stoff, I respect your nature, your boundaries, your lifestyle, the whole _you_ , I want you the way you are. I just want you for myself. Got it? And come here, now,” he locked him in a hug.

“Thank you,” Stoffel mouthed against his neck, kissing it softly, and such moments, the Frenchman thought, rare but intense, were worth all the nerves that prick was putting him trough. Tentative sensuality came creeping into the kisses.

“So… you still like me?” Esteban asked, placing hands firmly on his butt.

“Oh my, I absolutely like you! I just couldn’t look you in the eyes…”

“Can you now?”

“Is it necessary?”

“ _Stoffel_.”

With a sigh, he pulled back and cupped Esteban’s chin.

“Yes?”

“So, we’re, like… officially exclusive, from now on?”

“We are. Absolutely exclusive. Officially.”

Ocon pulled him in for a kiss.

“Trust me, you won’t regret it. And you don’t look any worse than normally, don’t worry,” he smirked, earning himself a light slap up his head, and tugged at Stoffel’s shirt. “Come on, we’ve got something to catch up on…”

He shed his clothes as he went and launched himself on the bed, shamelessly sprawled, stroking himself. Stoffel knelt above him.

“Oh fuck, finally,” he groaned before pressing their mouths together, running hands up and down his body. It was an overwhelming kind of passion already, but after a fight it felt even better. And after almost three weeks without proper sex, it was blowing his mind completely. And maybe just for that, maybe to seal the new deal between them, he broke the kiss and nearly whispered: “Hey, can you… lick me?”

“Like, where?!” Esteban cringed, never too inspired by the idea.

“No, anywhere, I just… kinda have a thing for spit,” he chuckled a bit nervously. Esteban quirked an eyebrow.

“Since when? I remember you quite disgusted by just kissing with tongue.”

“Since then, I… it wasn’t… and anyways, that was long ago, c’mon!”

“Fair enough. Well, guess I’m the one responsible then, I have to take the consequences,” he smirked, much to Stoffel’s relief, pressed a few very wet kisses on his neck and licked along his jaw.

“And what is your… weirdest kink that I don’t know?” Stoffel asked and laughed as he hesitated. “Don’t act like you don’t have one, everybody does.”

It could probably classify as such. Esteban has never heard of anyone else attracted to a person’s name, but he couldn’t help it, just seeing it written had strange effects on him, not to mention the sound…

“Come on, I’ve told you mine,” Stoffel nudged him. “Can’t be much worse, can it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re freaking me out, what is it?!”

“No, it’s just lame… it’s… I… your name,” he muttered.

“My what?!” the Belgian gaped. “Like, Stoffel?”

“Stoffel Vandoorne,” Esteban said, voice in fact heavy with affection.

“Shit, that’s… wow,” his colleague laughed, not knowing what to say. “And you pronounce it very well!”

“Thanks.”

“No, thank _you_ , I’m so sick of the Yankees butchering my beautiful name,” it was his turn to smirk, hugging Esteban closer. “You are permitted to say it as much as you want. And moan it and scream it and…”

“Just give me a reason, I will,” Esteban grinded against his leaking cock. Stoffel lined it up and pushed into him, grasping at his hips.

“I’ll give you a million reasons, trust me, you’ll be begging me to stop…”

Ocon shuddered, pressing up against him.

“Oh yeah? Try me…” The challenge was rather a gasp as Stoffel thrusted him into the matrass, smiling smugly with tongue between his teeth.

The cotton was no longer suffocating, it felt warm and cozy. It still disturbed him, he wanted his ribcage, lungs and beating heart of blood and flesh, not some cotton candy in his chest! Yet he couldn’t deny he kind of liked the feeling, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not too happy about this chapter, but it’s not going to get any better I’m afraid, so here you go.  
> The question is, is selfish love also love? Or, can it ever be anything else than superficial need?


	20. (hotter than a fantasy) lonely like a highway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being popular isn’t always all fun and games.  
> And being a nihilist can sometimes get dreary, but you gotta save your face.

“See you tomorrow,” Stoffel touched his shoulder lightly as he was leaving.

“Wait,” Esteban turned around, “do you still have my parking card?” Stoffel borrowed it two days prior, when he found his was on zero and he was, as always, cashless, because coins are dirty and stinky, and _“you take the subway, anyways, so you don’t need it that much”_.

Stoffel groaned, taking out his wallet. _Oh, don’t act like you have anywhere to hurry,_ Esteban thought, _your chess problems will wait for you._ He tossed the card somewhere in his briefcase, packed all his stuff and went for the exit, too. He felt something slick under his foot and picking it up, he found Stoffel’s driving license that must have slipped out. A quick look in the corridor: the owner wasn’t there anymore.

_«Wait,_ _I found your rijbewijs :P_ _»_ he texted and scrutinized the photo of eighteen years old Stoffel while waiting for the lift. Softer, more boyish features, shorter hair, same expression of contempt and cold narrowed eyes. Date of birth caught his eye and he realized he never asked Stoffel about it. 26th of March. _Shit_. _Not so long ago._ Born in some place that Esteban couldn’t even read; the signature looked exactly like his current one. _Who were you?_ he was asking that emotionless picture, because the real Stoffel would hardly answer. _And when have you become who you are today? Why?_ He tucked the license in his pocket, but something kept gnawing inside of him.

 

~

 

He answered the phone without even looking at the screen.

“Hey there!” cheerful exclamation in German came from it. “How’s it going?”

“Hey, Sebby,” he smiled.

“Wanna go out?”

“Don’t feel like it, sorry.”

“What’s up?”

“Just tired. They were dragging me around the whole Barcelona for two days…”

“I see… How did it go?”

“Hey, think they could turn me down?"

“I don’t think anyone can turn you down,” Seb said, smirk audible in his voice.

“So, that’s your answer. Now if the guys above don’t fuck it up, we’ve got the deal.”

“That’s a quite important _if_.”

Nico waved his hand, though his colleague couldn’t see it.

“Deal or not, I’m only doing my job and doing it well. The rest is their shit.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer to be the guy above? Decide the things, make the real business…”

“Nope. I’m fine where I am. Getting paid royally, all I have to do is travel the world, make dove eyes and do the sweet talking. Who could ask for more?”

“But… you’d have actual power, and I’m pretty sure you’d be doing it well!”

“I don’t want power, darling. I wanna sleep at nights.”

Sebastian stayed silent for a while.

“You’re a very special guy, you know that?”

“I hear it often, yeah,” Nico laughed. “Never sure if it’s a compliment, though.”

“It is.” A split second too long pause, then he added: “So, see you on Monday, then?”

“Yeah, have fun tonight.”

“Ah, not sure I will without you, traitor… But thanks.”

“Say hi to the guys, see you.” Nico hung up and rubbed his face. _Here we go again..._ He wasn’t doing it on purpose. It was partly professional deformation, as he was supposed to be all charming all the time, and partly years of carefree flirts that have entered his DNA. He only wanted to be nice to people, and more often than not went misunderstood…

He was called a playboy regularly, and not always as a joke, but it wasn’t intentional. He couldn’t stop shaving and dress like a hobo, for God’s sake! Nor could he stop hanging out, he needed company.

Most of the time.

He wasn’t tired at all, he just wanted to be alone for a while. To reflect, to cry or just to stare in the ceiling feeling down… It’s fine, he’s been told, facing those feelings is a necessary part of mental hygiene, one can’t just bury all his distress under forced happiness, it will only pile up. So he was facing them, lying across his bed, some alternative youtube playlist in his earphones. Suddenly, a screeching electric guitar intro startled him and he turned up the volume. _“Alcoholic kinda mood, lose my clothes, lose my lube…”_ Oh dear, he was so head over heels for Brian Molko back in the day! He smiled at the memory of listening to _Nancy Boy, Teenage Angst_ and _Every You Every Me_ on repeat, submerged in that sensual silken voice, looking at the poster on his wardrobe and dreaming of having such dashing beauty for himself one day, to love and to protect, to live for and to die for…

He definitely has changed his mind about the last point.

Usually, parents give a life to their child once. They did it three times. When he was born, when he wanted to die and when he decided to start anew far, far away. He couldn’t ever thank them enough for neither of those. They were so afraid to let him go, of course they were, but trusted him and sustained him all they could, and he had sworn he would pay them back for all they had sacrificed. With years, he did, and he was always so happy whenever he came home and saw mum’s new kitchenette, dad’s new car, the new roof… He only hoped they’ve ever truly forgiven him.

_“Oh Nico!”_ his mum exclaimed on brink of tears when he once brought it up. _“Don’t you even dare to think of it like this!”_ she shook his shoulders and he promised he wouldn’t, a white lie because he still couldn’t forgive himself. For leaving them with images etched too deep to ever fade away.

He should have called his shy and coy nancy boy, but couldn’t bring himself to, not in this state.

_I’m sorry, love,_ he thought, _but you don’t need this, neither…_ Nico was calling him to tell fun stories, ask if everything was alright with him and discuss whatever was weighing on Lance’s heart, make some plans for their time together… Not to share his melancholy.

 

~

 

Leaning against the subway window, Esteban fished out the phone and opened the last conversation again. He scrolled up and realized he went a bit too far, as they weren’t really texting much. The odder it was that time. He went down through days and times till he reached that chat.

It was Saturday, he was chilling at home, when his phone beeped:

_«_ _What r u doing?_ _»_

_\- Watching black mirror -_

_\- Eating pizza -_

_\- You? -_

_«_ _Nothing much_ _»_

_«_ _Wanna come over?_ _»_

_\- Now? -_

_«_ _No, next week_ _»_

_\- Sure -_

_«_ _Now?_ _»_

_\- Next week -_

_\- Want me to come now? -_

Stoffel gave up irony, as it was leading nowhere.

_«_ _Yes_ _»_

_« Dont wanna sleep alone »_

Esteban was staring at the message. He really hated the idea of getting dressed and going out. Usually, he had no problem turning Stoffel down, just out of spite, but somehow he couldn’t ignore _that_. He looked the time: 9:32.

_\- I think you’ll be asleep by the time I get there.. -_

_«_ _Nope_ _»_

_\- Ok -_

_\- On my way -_

_«_ _Move your ass_ _»_

 

_“Which episode are you on?”_ Stoffel asked when he arrived some forty minutes later.

_“Twelve.”_

_“Wanna watch a bit together or sleep?”_

_“And you?”_

Stoffel shrugged.

_“Well, we don’t have to get up tomorrow...”_

_“Alright.”_ Esteban plunged himself in the sofa. _“But no spoilers.”_

They finished the season, obviously with Stoffel dropping spoilers and commenting everything, driving him crazy, ordered another pizza, as Esteban left his unfinished _(“Be thankful I came and give me a half!"_ ), and he couldn’t find the right moment to ask what was going on. Neither when Stoffel cuddled into his side while watching the series, nor when they fucked on the couch between two episodes, face to face, with the Belgian kissing him a lot, nor when he was stuffing Esteban with spoons of nutella, straddling his lap, all smiles and laughs.

Esteban truly loved… it.

When they got to bed, Stoffel leaned over for a kiss. They ended up making out for a good few minutes.

_“Thank you,”_ he whispered eventually, menthol breath hot and sweet on Ocon’s face.

_“Anytime,”_ he replied, intertwining their fingers and thanking heavens he overcame his laziness.

 

Now, if Stoffel hadn’t dropped his driving license, God knows when and if ever Esteban would realize it was his birthday.

He signed the date in next year’s calendar in his phone. Not to throw a party, that would be probably his last heroic deed. Just to know, keep it to himself and be around.


	21. (somebody i can miss) i want something just like this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stoff and Este with their ups and downs in hindsight.  
> In the meanwhile, unbeknownst to his boyfriend, Lance decays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of my awfully written smut for you - having particular sexual tastes isn’t all roses, that’s what I felt like pointing out...

It wasn’t anything he had ever imagined he’d do, but that could be said about many things between them. He broke the kiss and pulled away; saliva dropped between Stoffel’s parted lips, the Belgian licked them with a soft gasp and shivered slightly as he gulped down. It was sick and beautiful, and Esteban couldn’t help a twinge at his stomach.

“Dirty little bastard,” Stoffel hissed, rolled them over, flipped him around and pulled his cheeks apart.

“That’s what I am, and you love me for it,” the Frenchman brought out, smiling into the pillow at the full feeling. They were having sex, three days ago, and just as he was about to come, Stoffel withdrew, chuckling at his bewildered _“What the fuck?!”_

 _“Not today, baby,”_ he pinned Esteban’s hands to the mattress, sitting on his legs.

_“What… why?! Stoffel…”_

_“Remember what you did to me on that ski lift?”_

_“Whoa, that was, like, an hour!”_

_“Well, you’re getting it back with interest. And dare to touch yourself.”_

_“What?! No, please, I wanna come,”_ he writhed. Stoffel bent down to his erection, swiping tip of his tongue over the slit, and as he felt Esteban’s wrists tense under his palms, he pulled away, looking up at him with devilish smirk.

_“Deserve it, honey.”_

After two days he started to understand Stoffel’s irritable nature. Pretty much everything and everyone was annoying him in his unsatisfied state and the only thing he could think of was sex, _sex_ , _SEX_ … Especially with Stoffel around in the office whole day. It was a rather painful struggle.

 _“You fucking tease, I fucking hate you,_ ” he whined as the Belgian drove him home with the sole purpose of feeling him up in the car. Vandoorne leaned over for a kiss and whispered:

_“It’s a game. Get yourself off anytime and I’ll never know.”_

_“I play by the rules,”_ Esteban shook his head. Stoffel licked at his ear, making him literally shudder.

 _“That’s my boy. It’s for your good,”_ he palmed the permanent bulge in his jeans, _“I’ll fuck your brains out tomorrow…”_

Esteban bucked his hips into the touch with a whimper, Stoffel laughed softly and patted his thigh.

 _“This is how I like you,”_ he pecked him for one last time.

And here they are now, rocking Stoffel’s bed into the wall.

“Oh, I do…” the Belgian confirmed without thinking, yanking his hair in rhythm of deep thrusts, drawing some breathless yelps from Ocon. It all dawned on him later, when he collapsed on shaking body underneath him, kissing sweaty neck and shoulders and threading fingers through Esteban’s hair, gently massaging the scalp. He… did he really say that?! It’s a… just a figure of speech or how they call it, right? Right?! A figure of speech, while being high on fuck, nothing to be taken too seriously…

Esteban rolled over. A pair of piercing eyes caught Stoffel’s flickering gaze and held it steady as he cupped his chin.

“You better,” he said with a smirk and leaned in to lick at his lips. “I don’t wanna be alone in this. Bastard.”

Stoffel looked the other way. He couldn’t help it, those eyes were unsettling him. They were somehow too glistening and way too dark, impossible to read. It was weird, but he felt a sort of trance when looking in them, pupils dilated in arousal turning them pitch black, while they were fucking.

“Liked it?” he broke the silence before it would become meaningful.

“I absolutely loved it and don’t you think you’re getting away with this, but it was fucking amazing…”

He looked relieved and Esteban could relate. Neither of them was actually sure what they were doing most of the times, Stoffel knew it all just from the porn where everything appears a tad different than in reality, and Esteban simply felt what he wanted and needed, without further knowledge or experience, and it ended up in numerous lame situations that nobody wants to remember outside the bedroom, like when Esteban bit Stoffel’s… well, sensitive parts, when he couldn’t catch his breath, hands tied behind his back, or when Stoffel slashed him with his belt cutting the skin and up to now firmly refused to try it again despite the Frenchman’s encouragements, or Esteban’s slight panic attack on the first time he was blindfolded…

Or that time when they realized they probably weren’t doing it exactly right.

They were in the middle of heavy petting and Stoffel decided to make it gross; he rubbed Esteban’s groin, sucking lightly at his neck, and apart from occasional _“No… Stoffel, drop it…”_ Ocon was holding still, until finally he shuddered with a quiet sob and much to Stoffel’s confusion, shoved him away when he wanted to kiss him.

_“Hey, what’s up?”_

_“Fuck off.”_

_“We’re at my place, just to remind you, but…”_

_“Just fuck off from my personal space,”_ Esteban leaned the elbows on his knees, holding his head.

 _“What’s up?”_ Stoffel tried it again.

_“You forced me to fucking come in my fucking pants… when I told you I didn’t want to, and you’re asking me what’s up?!”_

_“I didn’t… don’t cry, for fuck’s sake!”_ Stoffel shook his shoulder. _“Fuck, try to count how many of those ’no’ and ’don’t’ you ever actually mean! How was I supposed to know?!”_

_“Oh, so it’s my fault?!”_

_“Well, you could push me away then, not now…”_

True, except he couldn’t, really. It escalated too fast before he could change his mind; physical need to get off tucked everything else in the back of his mind and as he reached the peak, it bounced back on him: _shame_ , shame for being so pathetically horny, for feeling like a rag doll, unable to say no, feeling disrespected, because he actually said it a few times and nothing happened, shame for enjoying something he didn’t really want and first of all, the reason he didn’t want it, that he couldn’t put in words but he felt like it was the very same reason Stoffel did it: the helpless surrender. He felt truly humiliated by that sticky wetness in his pants that somehow made its way out without his full consent.

They were walking on thin ice and now they realized how easily it could break. How easily Esteban could break.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Stoffel whispered. _“Of course it’s not your fault, and I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear. I didn’t…”_ He didn’t know what to say, what to do, so he just awkwardly slung an arm around the subtle shoulders. _“I’m sorry.”_

 _“I know,”_ Esteban shook his head, adjusting his clothes. _“It’s okay, Stoff.”_ Not quite sure who he was convincing, he slid out of the half-hug and went to the bathroom.

He was quite reserved in the next days and it reminded Stoffel of another time he messed up.

It was a few weeks into their affair that he wrapped his fingers around Esteban’s neck from behind, squeezing right in the moment when the Frenchman bowed his head. He let out a disturbing choking sound and scooted away from him in a fit of cough. The usual mutual accusations along the lines of _“You really are sick…”_ and _“Fuck you, not my fault you moved!”_ followed and Stoffel felt a pang of pain at that cautious look.

Only months later Esteban caught him by surprise when in the middle of their encounter he suddenly took Stoffel’s hand and, eyes closed, head thrown back, placed it on his neck. Vandoorne traced his fingers over soft skin, fragile cartilages moving with every breath and gulp, and for what must have been the first time in his life he felt something tugging at his heart. He never choked Esteban, since, but held a hand on his neck often, looking for any slightest flinch, cringe… Looking for trust.

 

~

 

“No, I wanna buy them! How do you say _two tickets, please?_ ”

“Zwei Tickets, bitte.” Nico stepped away from the counter with a laugh.

“Zwei Tickets, bitte,” Lance repeated, and his excitement fell a bit at the cashier’s reply. “Heck, I though the numbers would be more similar…” he mumbled, handing over a few coins that, he supposed, should have covered the price. He liked the language. Especially listening to Nico, it sounded so effortless, harsh yet smooth… He’s gotten an accent since his move to Germany and Lance didn’t mind in the slightest, although Nico sometimes complained he sounded like a character from some crappy comedy, “you know, those sunburnt Germans camping at the seaside, with beer and würstels and socks in flip-flops and awful estrade music playing from the transistor…” Lance reckoned they watch different movies, but he imagined the character talking like Nico and it seemed hilarious.

 

 _“Listen… would you like to come over in three weeks?_ ” Nico called one day. _“There is a fair at the weekend…”_

 _“I’ll be there,”_ Lance cut in. Nico laughed.

_“You’d be easy to trick, you know that? I wonder how no one kidnapped you as a child…”_

Lance bit at this lip. He knew he had a strongly childish side and with Nico he felt free to unleash it. Ever since one of their first and best dates, when they spent three hours in an arcade…

So, for the first time in his life he was in Germany.

 _“Welcome to my homeland,”_ Nico smiled against his neck squeezing him at the airport and somehow, Lance felt like he should’ve been there long ago.

 

“If only they allowed bumper cars on roads, no?” the German nudged him after the ride.

“Shut up,” Lance tried to pout, but he was having way too much fun. “I don’t crash, I just… can’t park, not so big deal. Alright, what next?”

“Next… the shooting gallery?” Nico dragged him to the stand with many stuffed animals, paper roses, plastic toys and whatnot. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you hit,” Lance laughed.

“Don’t wanna freak you out, but I’m better than you think at this,” Nico winked. “Although… I don’t guarantee anything, they call it a fair here, but this is pretty unfair,” he lowered his voice, “that thing is usually made to shoot bad. Nevermind,” he shook his head, leaned on the counter and aimed at the row of flowers. One shot, a pink rose hung from the shelf. The middle-aged woman took it out and gave to Nico.

“Oh God, don’t be stupid,” Lance stuttered when he dropped on one knee and mumbled something with the prize between his teeth.

“Shit, how did that guy do it?!” he frowned after taking it out and wiping his mouth.

“What guy?”

“In a film.”

No, they definitely watch different movies.

“So, you were saying?” Lance chuckled.

“For my beautiful rose in blossom of life.”

He glanced around, blushing, and quickly took the paper kitsch Nico was solemnly holding out.

“I wanna try it, too.”

“On the target?”

“On the roses,” he narrowed his eyes stubbornly.

“Sure. Do you know what to do?” Nico smirked. Lance glared at him but, to be honest, he wasn’t sure how to manipulate with guns. He took loaded rifle from the woman, looked through the sights and pulled the trigger. “Not quite,” Nico laughed and pushed the safety catch. Lance tried it again; the air gun jerked a bit, he looked up with faint hope, but the bullet must have ended somewhere in the wall. His face fell. Nico patted his back and gave one more coin to the woman.

“Blowback,” he shrugged waiting till she reloaded the rifle. “Hits hard when you aren’t used to it. How about something fluffy to cheer you up?”

Lance looked at the stuffed animals, the woman said something in German. Nico leaned on the counter, it occurred to Lance he mentioned Canada and while wondering what they might be talking about, he decided the nicest one was a smiling dolphin. He showed it to Nico who nodded and looked at the woman.

“Der Delphin?”

“Grün,” she said, hand on a colourful target.

Learnable language, Lance thought.

“Cross your fingers,” Nico smirked as she spun it. Lance hasn’t been to many shooting galleries, but it seemed to him that it was spinning really slow. Nico held his breath, pulled the trigger, the woman stopped the target and gave him a small wink. Projectile was stuck near the border of green and yellow fields. She handed over the toy and Lance felt like an idiot, clutching it to his chest, but a happy, loved idiot and he could live with that. If Nico doesn’t mind a boyfriend who prefers stuffed animals to pillows in his twenties, he’s not going to change anything about it.

He got to make acquaintance with his “beloved” sofa, now covered in a blanket. (Just a common one, not his patchwork; that was proudly lying on Nico’s bed during the day, at night carefully folded on a chair.) Flipping through German channels, while Nico was preparing some salad for dinner, a crazy thought crossed his mind: what if he never came back? Screw his job, his studies, everything, he would stay on a continent he has hardly even visited before… If he could make a living in New York, he could definitely make it here. With Nico. In this flat, that felt like home from the moment he entered the door. He didn’t want to pack the stuff he hasn’t even unpacked and fly back overseas tomorrow.

Only now he realized how hard it had to be for Nico. That torn feeling inside, when leaving the place that had been his home for years, leaving his love, plus endless flights, and he understood that one can only manage that for so long. No matter how tough he appears.

Toughness reminded him of persistent thought that hasn’t left him since the fair.

“You really are pretty damn good,” he shifted, leaning his elbow on the backrest of the sofa, and watched Nico cut the cherry tomatoes in half. “At shooting.”

“Ah,” he laughed, “you haven’t seen me with a pistol.”

“Where did you learn that?”

“At shooting range,” he shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing. It was, frankly, just that Lance would never expect that from… _a kickboxer_ , he realized. It was one of the first things they did together, that Nico took him to see one training. (Oh, how often he wished he could go back to those days, listen properly to the German instead of nodding while daydreaming about whatever he craved to do with Esteban, open his eyes and see what was lying right there in front of him, stop him before he left, or better, never even give him a reason…)

 _“Work out a lot, don’t you?”_ he somehow commented, as Nico sported a short-sleeved polo shirt one Friday.

 _“A bit different work-out,”_ he laughed. _“Do you have time today after work?”_

It was strange and appealing, to see his kind, light-hearted colleague punch and kick the bag for all he was worth, and somehow, it made Lance appreciate his gentleness even more, knowing Nico could squeeze a bit and crush him if he wanted – but he didn’t want… Lance, despite being all muscles, lacked this brutal strength. And couldn’t fight to save his life.

“Afraid?” Nico laughed when he saw his distant expression.

“Should I be?” Lance replied, his mind still back in the gym.

 _“Afraid?”_ Nico nudged him, ruffling wet hair with a towel.

 _“Should I be?”_ Lance raised his eyebrow, half-jokingly.

 _“You? Never,”_ he smiled, all bright and sweet as always. _“The purpose… my purpose of this is to hurt the punchbag instead of people.”_

He could hurt people too, as Lance found out soon. And although it was long forgiven, the memory stayed. The awareness as well.

And Nico didn’t reply with _never_ , this time. He tossed a few cherry tomatoes into the bowl.

“I don’t keep a gun and I’m not planning on getting one, so… not really.”

 _Because you don’t trust yourself_? Lance stopped himself from asking. Instead, he walked over to the table to snatch a piece of cheese.

“Forgot to tell you,” Nico moved the place with cheeses, nuts and grape berries further from him, “wait, don’t ruin my mandala… tell you there is a nice park around the corner, if you wanna go for a jog.”

“Is that a subtle comment about my body?”

“Not at all!” Nico shot his eyes wide and Lance laughed half-heartedly. He felt less fit that he used to be but apparently it wasn’t showing yet.

“Well, thank you, but I don’t do them anymore. Got fed up with running around like an idiot.”

“I see…”

“But, that bike trip that you went with the guys the other weekend looked nice…”

“Wanna go there? Wait, I’ll show you on the map…” Nico walked past him, sliding a hand over his lower back. “Want a comment on your body?” he said under his breath. “It’s fricking perfect, even if you’re a little bit softer… You’re not a pro athlete, come on!”

Lance held his breath, clenching his fists and squeezing his eyes shut. No, he’s not, that’s the point. _Fuck, Stroll. Get your shit together, at least now._

Of course, it only got worse.

“Could I see that strip show live?” Nico smirked and Lance’s guts fell. He didn’t think he could repeat it sober, face to face and especially not after finding out he was getting _softer_ …

“Can’t we just get straight to the point?” he purred. “Next time you’ll get the show, promise.”

He suffered through nearly an hour of being totally exposed and then took a good while scrutinizing himself in the shower. His slightly fading six-pack, thighs getting thinner, tricepses not that rock hard anymore… He really should get back to work-outs. Or at least to the jogs, whatever. If only he didn’t have such a damn hard time rolling out of bed in the mornings and didn’t feel such a discomfort around people.

 

He cried a lot on the plane, as if to compensate the three long days of happiness. Tears seeping into fluffy blue dolphin, he couldn’t care less about what the passangers next to him must have thought. He was getting used to embarrassing himself in public by now. After he burst into tears feeling stupidly and irrationally sorry for a rotten tomato he saw in the grocery, and after he broke down in a fit of sobs in subway train as he watched a little kid playing with a toy car, it couldn’t possibly get worse, could it?

He was messed up.

He just wanted to be at home already, drink himself to sleep and survive another five days in the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this fluffy-angsty bit is my goodbye to you for a little while, until I get some shi… stuff sorted, and I’ll be able to focus on editing the chapters I’m quite looking forward to posting :) #staytuned, I’ll finish this before long ;)


	22. (we've walked that road, we've felt that shame) all of our dirt is washed in the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing up is tough, no matter how wealthy or smart you are.  
> And the most popular ones are sometimes the loneliest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, I’m back :) Hope you’re somewhat glad... XD

“Have you told them?”

“Everything.”

“And?”

“Well… they’ll love you,” Lance assured. “I mean, these talks are always the same: I was taking courage to come out for, like, three years, and my mum just laughed and said she kinda expected it all along…”

“Cool.”

“Yeah. So, it will be fine, don’t worry.” The matter was Lance’s graduation, which he took as a great occasion to introduce his family and Nico. “How about your parents, by the way?”

“What?! Oh, they took it very well, too. Not so expected, I guess, I wasn’t…” he hesitated. Lance laughed.

“Just say it: of that sissy kind. You weren’t me, basically.”

“No. I mean, you’re not a sissy, Lance.”

“I know I am.”

“There’s a difference between a sissy and a sensitive guy. Anyways, yeah, I was… more from the cool kids’ clique. Football team and stuff.”

“Better, isn’t it?”

“Not really. Well, you know what it’s like, when you’re the cool kid and suddenly you don’t belong that much anymore…”

“I don’t know, actually, I never belonged. I’ve never been the cool kid. I was just the rich kid. At first, I was the popular rich kid that everybody wants to be friends with because they get invited to fancy birthday parties and get nice presents for their own birthdays… Then I was just the daddy’s boy that everybody envied, because I had a better car, better clothes, better pictures from holidays, better everything I’ve never asked for… And I was the kike kid…”

“Noo!” Nico crunched up his nose.

“Yeah. I don’t give a shit, I never did, I’m proud of who I am, but well, people look for ways to knock you down anywhere… And I was _Lanss Sstroll, my preciouss,_ ” he pronounced in Gollum’s strained voice.

“For you have a bit of a lisp?”

“It was worse when I was younger.”

“Has anyone told you it’s sexy?”

“Erm, no?”

“It’s sexy, honestly, I almost wish I had some _s_ in my name.”

Lance rolled his eyes.

“Oh, you have, actually.”

“Wait, wait. The minute you call me _Nicolas_ , you’re officially single.”

“Taken into account. Anyways, what is it like?”

“To put it ssimply, it suckss.” Nico apparently lost the mood for serious talks. “It kinda turned me into a punk, enough?”

“No shit?!”

“Yeah,” Nico laughed. “There should still be some awful pics, I’ll look for them and bring them over if you wanna risk that sight…”

“Sure thing! Can’t really imagine it…” It made sense, though. Not just for the music. Some punkish revolt remained with him, Lance reckoned, in that stubborn refusal to go with the crowd, and he was wondering how Nico was doing with his attitude to dress code and code of conduct in his new workplace. He looked more… strained, lately. Worn out. He never complained, though.

“How rich is your dad, actually?”

“Rich. Does it matter?” Lance cringed at sudden discomfort in his chest. Nico laughed softly.

“Ah love, do I look like I need a sponsor? I was just wondering, but you don’t have to answer, obviously.”

“Sorry,” Lance muttered, feeling like an idiot. Not only Nico didn’t want to share the rent, but wouldn’t even let him pay the bills, although it was basically just Lance who was living there. So, no hunt for a sponsor, not at all. It was just the question itself that Lance was allergic to. “Well, I don’t even know myself, to be honest, but… count nine zeroes and some number before it.”

His boyfriend was so still that he wasn’t sure if the camera hasn’t lagged.

“Nico?” he asked; Nico snapped, moved his jaw not knowing really what to say.

“Dafuck,” he gasped eventually. “Here I am, a middle-class German punk going big in New York, dating a billionaire’s son…” He laughed nervously. “How the heck that happened?!”

“You are dating _me_ – and you make me feel like the middle-class Canadian sissy I always wanted to be. Don’t be so scared, for God’s sake! Look at Esteban – they take him almost like their second son. It’s not about money, not at all. And I am still who I was two minutes ago.”

“Yeah, I know, I just… I’m sorry, Lancey… I just didn’t expect _that_ … Although, now it makes sense.”

“What?”

“You hating the posh. That’s the difference between a nouveau riche like me and real class…” That tense laughter again. Lance shook his head.

“Oh no. You’ve got class, Nico.” Yes, he was flashy, especially when it came to furniture and cars, but Lance couldn’t hold it against him, he had every right to spend the money he had lost his youth earning. At least he was spending them well. Lance himself had grown up in luxury, it wasn’t any attractive for him. He wouldn’t have to get a part-time job during the high school, he could have whatever he wanted without moving a finger, but seeing the other kids around, he just couldn’t imagine living like that. Especially next to Esteban who was spending most of his afternoons in one work or another and, turned eighteen, worked night shifts at the bar, at times coming straight to the lessons in the morning, yet still he was among the best students, something Lance with his hardest effort couldn’t come even close to… He could take an example, though, that things don’t come free in life. So he forgot about his gold credit card and went from delivering newspapers, through selling tickets at the cinema, to working as a shop assistant in local sports shop.

His name didn’t ring a bell so loud in New York, and that was the main, if not only, reason he had left Canada as soon as possible. He felt like he merged with the crowd a bit more. At least as long as no one started googling him for whatever reason. Nico didn’t, which was a totally normal thing, but in Lance’s slightly deformed world he appreciated it a lot. No matter if it was out of respect, or Nico simply didn’t care. He was taking Lance for what he could see not what he heard, and that was something only very few other people managed.

 

~

 

“Are you kidding me? _Are_ _you_ _fucking_ _kidding_ _me?!_ My family can come all the way from France, and you can’t cross the fucking city?! Go fuck yourself, Stoffel! Seriously, go fuck yourself…”

That was more or less how Esteban’s invite for the graduation day ended. Stoffel opened his mouth, closed it, put on his shoes and slammed the door, uttering a needless:

“Fuck off before I’m back.”

This was definitely _not_ how he was imagining his big triumph. Throughout all the struggle, burn-out, fatigue, anxiety and about two lost kilos he was now trying to gain back, he managed to finish the thesis and miraculously pass the exams. He felt like he owed it to his family, to Lance, to himself in the end… And it’s not like he expected Stoffel to get all excited, he was a realist, but at least some decency he could’ve shown, no?

 

~

~

 

At the sight of masses of students in academic dresses, he thought of a herd of sheep. He heard some girls discussing what he recognized as the international marketing.

“Hey, girl! Do you know Esteban Ocon?”

“Y-yeah, we are course – well, we _were_ course mates, why?”

_Oh, thank God or whatever there might be, finally…_ He didn’t think he could try this any longer.

“Give this to him, thanks,” he shoved a bouquet in her hands.

“Sure, yeah, uhm… what should I say?”

“Nothing, just give it to him.”

“Alright,” she smiled, “no problem.”

_Yeah, there better be no problem, you don’t wanna piss me off, lady._

“Good,” he uttered.

He elbowed his way from the campus, from that crowd of gowns and caps, and finally took a breath.

 

 

She accomplished the romantic mission as soon as she spotted the Frenchman in the circle of course mates talking over each other, excitedly recalling the night work on the thesis, comparing who had worse timing and who wrote it faster, again and again retelling the same stories from exams for those who hadn’t heard them yet, all fervently trying to find something to talk about, to make their last students’ moments linger for a bit more before they’re over for good, before they part their ways and all the promises of _“We’ll stay in touch!”_ will end up in viewed insta stories, everyone caught up in their new life adventures, scattered around this megalopolis, around the whole States, maybe even the world…

“Este, this is for you,” she pulled him aside. He was glad, the conversation was annoying him, but he wanted to be in company. He always used to be at the centre of all fun, so he couldn’t miss the last one. Clearly taken aback, he took the flowers.

“Whoa, seriously?! Erm, thank you?”

“Not from me, sorry,” she laughed, “from a guy.”

“A gu… are you sure? I mean…”

“Uhm, he looked like one, but well, you know better…”

“No, I mean, you sure it’s for me?”

“As far as I know, there’s only one Esteban Ocon at this college, and surely the only one that could get such a dish for a boyfriend,” she nudged him. “But anyways, there’s a… a card?!” she started to search the flowers, “hope I haven’t lost it somewh… ah no, here it is,” she put it on the top. “Haven’t read it,” she lifted her hands and he had some doubts, girls’ curiosity is something incredibly powerful. “But congrats also from me, darling! We made it, yay!” she kissed him on the cheeks and danced off with her girl squad. Esteban opened the folded card.

 

_I would cross the fucking galaxy for you._

_Stoffel Vandoorne_

_Well, thanks, but you didn’t._ His eyes drifted to Nico surrounded by Lance’s family. The _“_ this could be us” thought involuntarily crossed his mind watching the German chatter vividly with his boyfriend’s mum, so at ease and belonging… Esteban joined them for a while, obviously, to receive congratulations, hugs and kisses, to snap a lot of photos for family albums, because he was like a part of the Stroll’s family after all those years. One day he will look at them and see his twenty-four years old self, laughing much (and only he will remember it was more of _“it’s over”_ relief than joy) and jealous of Nico who has taken his place and Esteban could only envy him while standing there alone with a stupid bunch of lilies. _Of lilies_. He clenched his jaw in sudden remorse.

_There must be a reason he dropped out_ , he realized. The mystery of Stoffel’s studies was resolved by a double major. Along with mathematics and physics, he was studying international business, minoring in economics.

_“Overload?”_ Esteban offered sympathetically when Stoffel mentioned it.

_“I don’t even know the word, honey,”_ he laughed. _“No, simply bullshit, and no money from it, just idiots thinking they know more than you and thus they can… whatever.”_

Esteban was afraid he would never know what that _whatever_ was standing for, but for general image, it was enough. He stroked his thumb gently over the signature in Stoffel’s distinctive handwriting. _I_ _see_ _what_ _you_ _did_ _there_ , the thought, tucking the card into his pocket as his relatives approached him.

“Man, she’s pretty hot,” one of his brothers patted his back. “But it should be the other way around, you know…”

“She’ll get some better than the flowers,” the other one nudged him, and Esteban only laughed at it because what else could he do?

~

He texted Stoffel: _«C_ _ant thank u in person now but i will tmrw :P_ _»_ , then showed his mum and sister the shops on 5th Ave and gave them the credit card, while he hit the bars with his bros. He was translating their ridiculous pick-up lines to American girls, they were playing automats, looking for some French karaoke songs and settling for Lara Fabian’s _Je t’aime_ that had people laughing on the floor, and Esteban was wondering what would happen had he told them… He imagined the following day, on which he was planning to take the family for a bath on Staten Island, a picnic in Central Park and accompany them to the airport in the evening, and he bit his tongue. It will be better on the phone. Maybe, one day. He’s been living his double life for too long to meld it together just like that.

After all, what for? They are all better off this way.

 

~

 

“Hey, if you wanna meet my teen self…” Nico started once they came home that night, fidgeting with a rectangular envelope.

“Oh yeah!” Lance bounced on the bed a little. “You’ve got the pics?”

“Found these in my old room. Brace yourself,” Nico handed over a few photos and watched his boyfriend’s face for any reaction, but Lance just stared at them, lips slightly parted and after a while looked up.

“Wow.” Leaning closer, he traced a finger beneath Nico’s bottom lip to find a little mark there, just as above right eyebrow.

“Yeah, it really is me,” Nico chuckled at his fascinated look. Lance closed those few centimetres to kiss him and dropped his eyes back to the boy with magenta-dyed mohawk on photopaper. First snap captured him sitting on some stairs with fellow punks, sticking out his tongue with a metallic stud and flipping a bird, second one was a close-up of a bit pimply face, mesmerizing cyan eyes looking up in the camera, underlined with black liner, sassy smile playing on pierced lips. Captivating, to say the least. “Hope you won’t see this everytime you look at me, now.”

“Why, you were beautiful! I mean, I don’t think I’d ever have had the guts to come near you but…”

“Why?”

Lance shrugged apologetically.

“Sorry but your… nonconformity would be kinda scaring the shit out of me,” he chuckled sadly. “I always tried to be rather invisible…”

“Oh, don’t be stupid! I looked like a scarecrow, I admit it. But, knowing myself, I’d be the one sticking up for you,” Nico smirked. “I was a good boy, believe me or not. For example, I had way better relationship with my parents than any of the _conformist_ kids.”

“And they let you… look like this? How old were you?”

“Here? I was… sixteen, seventeen? I wasn’t leaving them much choice, you know,” he laughed. “I would just come home one day with a ring in my nose, another day with some wild creation on my head and… they understood why, so…”

“Why?”

“To express myself,” Nico said with mock pride. “Out of spite. When people started implying I was somehow different, not quite one of them anymore, I decided to be as different as it gets.”

“With success, I dare to say.”

“Thank you. See, my mum only told me the same thing always, when I told her I liked guys, when I started with the piercings _… Just be careful and don’t catch any infection._ She gave me this,” he pointed at the jewel in his eyebrow, “for my birthday, and took me to this beauty salon, where I felt like an idiot, so that I wouldn’t do it myself somewhere at the school toilets again… They didn’t care. About the neighbours, the colleagues, the teachers… They were way ahead of their peers in this, I’d say. We went somewhere together, on the bus, and there was this lady sitting across from me crinkling her nose all the time, till my dad burst out and asked her if she had any problem, and she was like: _you seem to have a problem right here,_ pointing at me, you know… Oh God. I don’t think I had seen him this triggered before. _At least my son has a personality, unlike you and anybody else who don’t know shit about him…_ ”

“So cool! Hope I’ll get to meet them one day,” Lance said before he could stop himself, “your parents sound awesome… I mean, only if you want, not that I…”

“No, of course! Actually, I wanted to take you there when you were in Germany, but they had some other plans over the weekend… But you surely will meet, don’t worry.”

“Speaking of which… it went quite well today, didn’t it?” Lance was so glad for how his family reacted. All about the age, nationality and other aspects had been discussed beforehand, so there were no awkward pauses at introducing Nico to them. His good manners and sophisticated jokes quickly conquered Mrs. Stroll’s heart, Mr. Stroll was delighted by his intelligence and business thinking. All in all, Lance couldn’t wish for more.

Just for Nico to like them as well.

“Oh yes! It absolutely did. Well, a guy like you could only come from a good family,” he winked. “No, they were super nice, also your sis, she’s such a sweetheart… Thank you for inviting me, really. Means a lot.”

“You mean a lot,” Lance nearly whispered, still a bit uneasy about manifesting his feelings, although he was really working on it, “thank you for coming. And, uhm… c-can I keep ’em?” he blurted out almost unintelligibly, and Nico pushed the photos towards him.

“You like it that much?” he laughed.

“I… yeah, you were… a piece of art. Different, indeed, and in the best way possible. Brave. Strong. I… I wish I could ever come even close to that…”

“Ah, love… I think you romanticize it a little bit. We were just a bunch of guys mad at the world. But not as lost cases as they liked to think of us. From what I know, we mostly grew up well. This guy here has set up a beautiful family, this girl plays bass guitar in a band, this one, I think, is a car mechanic…”

“And this?” Lance touched a picture of Nico with his arm slung around a guy’s neck. “Your boyfriend?” he asked when a silence followed. “Look, I don’t mind, I kinda imagined you weren’t virgin till your thirties…”

Nico shook his head slowly while wondering why he even brought it along. Subconsciously, he probably wanted Lance to ask. Wanted a reason to re-open that story and come to peace with it. Otherwise, he would have just left that pic where he found it.

“Maybe if we were…” he said quietly. Friends’ protests from some seven years ago echoed in his head: _You wouldn’t have saved him, Nico, no one could, he would only drag you down along!_

“I’m sorry, if you don’t want to talk about it,” he felt a soft touch on his shoulder. He shook his head again.

“Benni was a… kinda friend with benefits. Just that at some point… when I was leaving, he realized he actually wanted to be more than that.”

“Reminds me of someone you know,” Lance muttered.

“Yeah, well, that’s about where any parallel between you two ends. First time I came back home, some four-five years later, they told me he overdosed.”

Lance covered his mouth.

“He was hooked on heroin, I knew it, but still… I somehow couldn’t understand he was… gone.”

“And you felt like you should’ve been there,” he added stroking Nico’s arm. “You know, I think… if you didn’t want to stay because of him, you wouldn’t have stayed through that, neither.”

“Probably, yeah. It was..." He thought of how to put the story cutting the problematic part out. He wasn’t ready to face Lance with all that, with the before and after. It wasn’t just the confession itself. He was worried of how the boy would look at him. What it would do to him, to them, to… With starting anew, he actually meant anew. He didn’t want to have to prove he was okay every day, didn’t want care and concern, he was a grown-up, for heaven’s sake! He has learnt other ways to deal with things. Or, well, he’s been learning them. "...a bit more complicated, with me leaving and stuff, but yeah, it wouldn’t have ended well, I guess. He was… I didn’t even know back then… he was schizophrenic, refusing the treatment… I thought it was just… drugs and his – his strange humor, a sort of pose, but… yeah, it wasn’t. Shit… sorry,” he took a shaky breath. Lance caressed his hair, leaving him space to be on his own with the memory.

“That’s okay, love,” he whispered. He was looking at the guy with black and white mess on his head, a lot of chains and spikes everywhere, leaning into Nico’s side with a bright smile, comfortable closeness pouring from the snapshot, and he could physically feel his boyfriend’s regret. Losing a light from one’s life always hurts. (He could tell that, albeit Esteban was neither dead, nor a druggie.)

Nico wiped the tears before they fell and cleared his throat.

“Guess I’m not as through it as I thought,” he laughed awkwardly. “I’m really sorry…”

“Don’t! It’s a story of your life, a difficult one and… I get it, I really do, the… feeling that you’ll never know… you’ll never know what could’ve been, but... I think, at least you can remember him like this,” he said softly, tracing a finger over the glossy paper, “and… if you look at it from the good side: we are together. I… guess it’s a good side?”

“Of course it is!” Nico drew him in a hug. “You’re too good for this world, Lancey, and definitely too good for me, but I love you so much… I wouldn’t have anyone over you, you know that, right?”

Lance nodded, face in Nico’s chest.

“Think I should cut them short again?” he asked as he felt fingers threading through his hair.

“No. I think you actually look better.”

“Oh! Good. My parents said it’s girly and awful, but I like it. I mean…”

“Be girly all you want, I don’t mind in the slightest.” Nico cupped his chin and brushed a few strands behind his ear. He looked like he wanted to add something, then just muttered: “I like it, too,” before pressing their mouths together. Lance decided not to linger on alert  _“I look better means I didn’t look good before?!”_ thought and kissed back instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the OC, but I couldn’t put any real person through that, and he’s a quite important character for me...


	23. (who do you need) when you come undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico has found his place. Because they say home is where your heart is.  
> Meanwhile, Esteban slightly manipulates Stoffel into hitting unsuspected _bottom _.__

It was a long flight.

Those pictures he hadn’t seen in years and then the talk with Lance have opened some old wounds.

Maybe it was time to relive it, given that shutting it out of mind wasn’t any permanent solution.

He saw again those bloodshot eyes gazing at him with maniacal despair, snot smeared over pale face mixing with tears, heard the voice hoarse from crying: _“I’ll give it up, Nico, I swear, just don’t go… You’ll be fine here as well, I’ll be fine… We’ll be fine! I’m not him, I won’t… I… You can’t live like this for the rest of your life… Please, stay, I… I’ll go to rehab if you want, I will… just give me a reason, Nico, I love you…”_

Lance was right, he wouldn’t have handled it. Not back then. At the time he was struggling to find his own lost inner strength, he had none left for anyone else.

_“But I don’t love you. I won’t fuckin’ fall in fuckin’ love ever again. If that shitshow has taught me something, it is that you must be your own reason, Benni, because anyone else will only let you down. Promise me you will go to that rehab, for yourself.”_

He nodded, wiping all kinds of body fluids off the hollow cheeks.

_“Promise? And then you’ll come over to Cali, okay?”_

A nod again, with a weak smile. Somehow, Nico felt deep inside that he would never make it to California. Maybe not even to the rehab.

Still, he was hoping for it and used to think of him, in the first weeks and months. Suddenly the thought took a more ominous form, when out of the blue, lying in his bed, he realized just how reckless he was. A guy shooting up and selling sex for a dose definitely didn’t fit in the safe and sane category.

He didn’t get much sleep that night, his life flashing before his eyes, and remained petrified for a next few days, already putting his testament together in his head while turning all his mortal fear into rancor towards that goddamned idiot who fucked up their both lives…

Eventually, after a pleasant flirty evening that he didn’t dare to take further, the feeling of responsibility for his potential partners prevailed and he got tested.

The wait was some of Nico’s hardest days, the result some of his most thankful prayers.

And again, he recalled with fondness all the rest: Benni’s hiccupy laughter at his own – truly hilarious – jokes, their deep night conversations, their awkward mornings, their train-graffiti raids…

It felt like a fist in the stomach, when he came back and all he found of him were a grave and a few disgusted former friends. He punched one in the mouth when they called Benni “a crazy junkie whore.”

He spent an afternoon there at the cemetery reflecting, crying, trying to blame him but blaming himself instead. Maybe if he stayed… it would be the same, only worse. Only he would be left with another wound to lick. Much deeper and more painful than it was.

 

Or maybe not.

_“Do you wish to just fly away, sometimes?”_

_“Stay where you are, Nico…”_

_“Just asking, I’m not gonna jump!”_

_“Well, I’m flying high basically every day…”_

_“Yet you’re still in one place.”_

_“I like that place. Quiet, dark, cold and mine.”_

_“Lonely.”_

_“Private. I don’t need anybody there. I’ve got my love and we’re just fine together.”_

_“A love that’s gonna kill you.”_

_“Any love can kill you, as you see. Sorry.”_

_“No, you’re right. There is one that doesn’t, though. Love for yourself.”_

_“That’s a bit too much.”_

_“What?”_

_“Effort.”_

_“You lazy pig!”_

_“I want someone else to love me. Sometimes, I feel like the junk doesn’t love me back…”_

 

Or maybe yes.

 

_“You wouldn’t have saved him, Nico, no one could.”_

_“How can you know if you never tried?!”_

_“I did. He sold my phone and Johanna’s necklace. Sorry, but I lost the helping mood.”_

_“You didn’t know him…”_

_“Well, you knew him better than any normal person wanted…”_

_“That was low.”_

_“But true.”_

 

In any case, it only strengthened his resolution not to get attached to anyone, anymore.

He loved the life, the world, the people around him. Unconditionally, just to vent all the affection he wasn’t able to dedicate to particular person.

Until that innocent beauty he used to dream of came his way. Ten years younger. With a heavy crush on his best friend.

And he recalled his androgynous heartthrob’s lyrics:

_A heart that hurts is a heart that works._

In those twelve years he hadn’t really felt anything that would significantly touch his insides. Suddenly, that sweet, painful longing reminded him of all he had deprived himself of. Of youthfulness with everything it brings along, suffering very much included.

He didn’t even dare to hope he would luck out like that. With Lance, he felt reborn.

Loved.

Felt like he was finally getting something back, in those bone-crushing hugs, shuddery gasps, in Lance’s devoted trust, faithful patience, in their late night / early morning skype talks of everything in the world…

And he felt _alive_.

He used to think long ago that he was well balanced, but only now he realized what it really meant. To be complete.

It wasn’t exquisite boutique furniture that made his flat cozy and comfortable; it was messy bedsheets, Lance’s clothes scattered around, toothpaste sprinkles on the mirror and coffee mug circles on the tea table. They were so... heart-warming, sweetly scatterbrained like the Canadian himself, and after a long, long period of time Nico was yearning to come home everytime. After a long period of time he felt that his home _was_ somewhere. Not his first home in New York, second home in Dortmund, third home in his flat in Berkeley he was now giving on rent, his parents’ home, or temporary home in pretty much any hotel room around the world…

Just _home_.

 

~

 

“Wanna go out?” Stoffel asked.

“Where to?” He cracked up at the perplexed face. Clearly, the Belgian didn’t think this graduation gift through.

“I… don’t know, where do you like to go for a date?”

“To the cinema, for example…”

“Yeah? What movies are there, now?”

“Hmm, there are the Avengers, the latest John Wick, the Fast & Furious spin-off,” he listed, amused by the look of suffering, “or I like to go dancing, you know, in the club…” The look turned into pure misery and Esteban burst into laughter. “We don’t have to go out, you know.”

“No, I… shit, I must be the most tedious boyfriend in the world.”

“But you remember my favorite flowers.”

Stoffel curled the corner of his mouth up and he couldn’t resist pressing a kiss on it. And he froze at realizing what Stoffel probably didn’t realize when he said it. First that card and now he’s a _boyfriend_?!

“You know, we can just go for a walk, that also classifies as going out, and you won’t get involved in any cringey activities.”

“Thank you. That would be nice.”

It was nice indeed. Strolling down the boulevard, chattering, sharing stories, commenting on the passersby with Stoffel’s wonderful sarcasm… At some point, the unusually relaxed Belgian brushed his knuckles against Esteban’s hand. A side glance told Ocon it wasn’t an accident. He suppressed a grin and entwined their fingers loosely. He felt Stoffel tense and he let go, but for those few moments, he was flying. This was actually way better then to face his family with the new fact, and on top of the shock present Stoffel who would be all so… himself: standoffish, cynical, gross, uninteresting and _nervous_ , which would make all the previous stand out even more.

“You look happy, wanna eat?” he asked and Esteban’s heart twitched a little at cute logic of his question. Truly, he was quite hungry. They stopped to buy two sandwiches. And that’s where Stoffel’s light mood dissipated.

“What is in that new thing?” he motioned his head to the menu board. “Haven’t been here in ages…”

“Hey, you don’t need a degree for reading, do you?” Esteban obviously had to say, instead of reading the description. Stoffel gave him a scolding look and squinted at the offer. Esteban watched him squeeze his eyes, blink a few times and give it up. _Shit._ That wasn’t looking too good. He didn’t want to spoil the atmosphere, though, so he just bit his tongue.

The atmosphere went spoiled, nevertheless.

After _waiting_ behind two other customers, they had to _wait_ for the bread to toast, and although it wasn’t in any way the girl’s fault, Stoffel needed to take it out on someone and the trainee was an easy target.

“Ah, finally,” he breathed out as she put the sandwiches on the counter and listed all she was to put on it at lightning speed. She looked lost, reaching for the vegetables.

“Sorry, you said tom… tomatoes or cuc…”

“Both, and peppers, too,” he rolled his eyes. “No, I said _except_ onion, what are you… arhg!”

“Don’t be a dick, you see she’s new,” Esteban nudged him.

“I was once new, too, and I wasn’t so useless.”

“Shut up!” he hissed. Stoffel waved him off.

“Do you need a written request for that dressing?!” he turned to her with cold smirk.

“I’m sorry, wha… what was it?”

“Barbecue. For fuck’s sake.”

The bottle slipped her out of trembling hands, she caught it, let out the breath she was holding, and Stoffel gave her a thumb up.

“You would be gifted as a goalkeeper, why wasting your time here?”

Esteban now gave him a real jab in the side and leaned on the counter.

“Don’t mind that idiot, he wouldn’t last a day here,” he smiled. The girl looked down, all flushed. “For me just lettuce, tomatoes and some olives, darling. Easy, yeah? We have time.”

As it often happens, cooled tomato slices were sticking together and she had a hard time putting them down one by one. Stoffel groaned.

“I imagine you can’t know what plans for the evening mean, but I’ve got some, and I wanna get home, watch a movie and fuck this pretty boy before ten, so…”

Esteban’s jaw dropped in disbelief. One man standing next to them shook his head and left, a group of teens laughed, some customers whispered to each other, and literally everyone, the girl included, was staring at him.

“Those olives,” he involuntarily adopted Stoffel’s tone, “and mayo, and today please.”

 

“What. The. _Fuck…_ was that?” he barely managed to say as they paid and left.

“I know right, she was impossible!”

“No, that’s for another discussion, but why did you have to embarrass _me_?!”

“How?! I called you pretty, it was a compliment!”

“ _Stoffel_. This evening started so nice, don’t screw it up.”

“What did I do?”

“You just don’t say you’re gonna fuck me in front of random people!”

“I am.”

“Go on like this and you’re not.”

“What?!” Stoffel stopped to gape at him. “Well, sorry for being proud of you,” he scoffed, striding down the street. “Stupid bitch, it’s not even good,” he threw the sandwich in the bin and tucked his hands in the pockets.

“Shame I can’t be proud of you when you act like a prick all the time!” Esteban called after him, catching up with his angry tempo. “What was that theatre with that girl? There are limits to everything, Stoffel, and that was just too much. It’s not her fault if she’s not that pretty…”

“It is her fault, if she didn’t stuff herself like a pig, it could be better.”

“Maybe she’s ill, look at me – it can go both ways, you know, and anyways, there are guys who like some booty, and she can be a nice person, with much more friends and plans than you have.”

“Oh my fuck, shut your face already and don’t educate me, you’re not my mother.”

“Well, she should’ve done a better job.”

“Yeah, she definitely should’ve.”

They both fell silent at their slips of tongue, eyeing each other from aside.

“You first,” Stoffel said flatly. Esteban chewed at his lips. He met Nico shortly after Christmas, when the German came to some meeting, they were recalling the holidays, and he said something about poor Stoff without parents.

_“What?!”_ Nico choked on his spice latte. _“What’s with his parents?”_

_“They… died, no?”_

_“When?!”_

_“Oh, when he was little…”_

Nico frowned.

_“He told you this?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Well, don’t wanna disappoint you, but as far as I know, his parents are alive and well in Belgium. If anything happened to them that I don’t know, okay, but definitely not before I knew him. I’m really sorry to tell you, Esteban, but that’s one load of bullshit.”_

_“You sure? I mean…”_

_“Yeah, I know. No, I’m sure. He doesn’t exactly love them, I don’t know why, but to bury them like this?”_ He shivered. _“Fuck. That’s a bit messed up…”_

“Well, I heard something…”

“From? Oh. Nico, right? I preferred you two when you weren’t these kind of coffee buddies.”

“So that you could lie to me comfortably?”

“I haven’t lied to you.”

“Well, apparently you have. You told me your parents were dead?!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Stof…”

“I know very well what I said, don’t try to beat me at memory. I never literally said they were dead, that’s what you made out of it, but yeah, technically, they _are_ dead for me. Haven’t heard from them for, like, ten years, so… I’ve really almost forgotten I had some so-called parents. Enough? I don’t lie to you, Esteban,” he underlined.

_You just don’t tell the truth. Clever guy._

 ~

“So… you didn’t mean it, right?” Stoffel asked when they entered his flat, kissing already on the threshold.

“What?”

“That we don’t fuck tonight.”

Oh, Esteban would never expect him to be this adorable. But when it came to feelings he didn’t quite understand, he was lost. The Frenchman had to admit he’d been looking forward to it for a few days and didn’t want to postpone it any longer. Now that question gave him the best idea ever.

“I said you won’t fuck me, not that we won’t fuck at all.”

Stoffel gave him a confused look.

“Let me fuck you?” Esteban shrugged, as he didn’t seem to catch on clues. Stoffel stiffened.

“Why?” The question sounded lame even to him, but couldn’t muster any better reaction. That came too unexpected.

“Because I want it so damn much. To make you understand why you can’t say shit like that in public. Just so you feel what I feel, because it’s fucking amazing and I assure you I do it well. Actually, I miss it a bit... And honestly? To claim you mine,” he whispered, pressing him up against the wall. Stoffel grinded his crotch against the lean thigh.

“I am,” he nearly moaned.

“Prove it,” Ocon cocked his head and as the Belgian sucked his bottom lip in with a deep shaky breath, he cupped his face. “Kidding, I know you are. Only do it if you really want to do it, okay?” The best way to get a _yes_ , isn’t it?

“Sure.”

“Seriously, though. I mean it, it… means a lot to me and I don’t wanna mess it up.” Definitely the best way. Deliberate doesn’t mean it’s not sincere.

“You won’t. Go for it.”

 

Waiting for Stoffel to finally finish taking an even more endless shower than usual, he squeezed a bit of lube in his hand to warm it. At the sound of barefoot steps he looked around to see ethereal beauty: Stoffel Vandoorne with a towel around his hips, tousled damp hair, unsure look of mixed expectations.

“Come here, pretty boy,” he patted the mattress with a soft smile. Stoffel let himself be enveloped in a hug and rested his chin on bony shoulder.

“You’re uncomfortable,” he mumbled.

“Well, live with it. You’ll be uncomfortable now,” Ocon laid him down. It wasn’t very subtle, he realized, pushing Stoffel’s thighs apart and gently circling his entrance with a lube-slicked middle finger.  _Careful, untouched area_ , he heard at the back of his head and felt a strange tenderness at the thought. “But only for a while, and that’s what it is. I promise it won’t hurt at all, Stoff,” he whispered, slowly working his way inside, “at all, okay? Just relax.”

Stoffel sighed, clenching ring of muscles speaking for itself.

“It’s fine, we’ve got the whole night for this,” Esteban assured, stroking his cheek with a thumb.

"Actually, I wanted to go to slee..."

"Okay, we’ve got over an hour, still no rush, right? And if you wanna stop, I stop.”

“No.” Short for  _“anything you can do, I can do better.”_ Esteban pushed the doubts about ethics of his actions aside. They were cold-blooded, stone-hearted machiavellians, after all. The ends justify the means, right? The means were taking advantage of Stoffel’s challenges-loving nature, but only to make him feel good in the end. So, it’s fine, or no?

“Okay. Trust me, I wouldn’t hurt you, Stoff.” _Although you’re giving me more than enough reasons, you twat._ He slipped his tongue between parted lips and pushed in deeper. As he curled the finger, Stoffel twitched; his surprised gasp, louder than intended, must have been the most beautiful sound Esteban has ever heard.

“Found your soft spot?” he smirked and pulled back to look him in the eyes spread with wonder. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the world you’ve got one.” It occurred to him, from that ghost of smile, that Stoffel understood he wasn’t referring just to his prostate gland. He kept rubbing at it gently until a firm grasp at his wrist.

“Wait, wait…”

“What’s up?”

“Just… give me a minute,” Stoffel bit his lip in embarrassment. Ocon kissed the flushed cheek.

“Wanna come or want a break?”

“I don’t know…”

“Look, I’ll make you hard again.”

“No doubt about it,” Vandoorne chuckled.

“So come on, then, I really wanna see you come from this…” Esteban slid down. “Come on, baby,” he breathed out kissing his hips, groin, inner thighs, cock that he was mildly stroking, “just let go. Let go, Stoffi…”

Rather frightened by what was happening with him, Stoffel inevitably let go. Reduced to a shaking mess, he was clutching the bedsheets, balling his fist into Esteban’s frustratingly short hair, pulling him up to press against him as he needed a shield, a cover for his sudden, shattering vulnerability. They kissed, and Stoffel realized two things at once. That the taste could be worse, for which he was glad, and that this definitely wasn’t a Christmas present. This was Esteban simply casually swallowing. He wasn’t even hoping for something like that anymore. Sucking on his tongue, he squeezed him tight.

“Can we leave it at this, for now?” he asked with an apologizing furrow as soon as he caught his breath. Ocon tensed.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m kinda too good, actually.” He was disturbed by the level of his satisfaction and self-conscious about getting so swept by one fingerfuck which, if they had it the other way around, was just a common round of foreplay… He overrated that night at the team building a bit. It was close, yes, but _this_ had to be what real falling apart feels like. He couldn’t wrap his mind around how Esteban was going through this like it was nothing, over and over... He only wanted to run and hide, preferably for a long time, until this meltdown is forgotten and he can hold his head up again. For now, he felt like a pathetic wimp.

Esteban raised an eyebrow with a question he didn’t need to ask: _would you like the world to know about this?_ And Stoffel, torn between bliss and shame, just shook his head slowly, thinking _"fucking hell, not in the worst nightmare!"_ , and after a few more deep breaths and chaste kisses he didn’t want to become awkwardly intimate, he asked:

“Am I yours now?”

Esteban buried his face into the pillow. He seriously should bite his tongue sometimes.

“Told you, you were already, you are, and you will be – if you don’t listen to all the shit I say, _boyfriend_.”

Stoffel blinked, cracked one of those rare, disarmingly genuine smiles and kissed his shoulder.

“I meant it, though, I am really proud of you. For that stupid degree, for everything.”

“I didn’t mean it, I am proud of you too, Stoffel.” Knowing what the concept of pride meant for the Belgian, it felt almost like something close to a love confession.

Maybe Esteban even wanted it to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Esteban’s inner love/hate mess hitting a peak... Consent can be a tricky thing, ain’t it so?


	24. caught in the undertow (every step that i take is another mistake)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many various sorts of addictions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Lance hits a new low here...

Wiping off the sweat from his eyebrow with his shoulder, he caught the oriental bath foam scent of his skin. _What_ _for_ , flashed through his mind, _who_ _for?_  It took him a while to realize the salty drops trickling down his face weren’t only sweat anymore. It made him think of one message from Nico:

_Some wait for the rain not to cry alone. Smart ones just take a shower ;)_ _#planethoughts #flyingintherain_

Those texts were Lance’s only way to survive his flights. Despite Nico providing (for him) ridiculous statistics confirming flying is way safer that, let’s say, driving, he still couldn’t wait for that relieving beep. From a simple _“Landed, love you <3”_, they became hilarious pictures from the airport, or the plane version of shower thoughts – random one-liners that always made him crack up and stop for a second to think.

_Ever realized winter is 2x and summer only 1x a year?_ _#_ _planethoughts_ _#_ _thereshouldbe2summers_

_Sometimes I just wanna cut my wrists to see if I bleed red bull…_ _#_ _planethoughts_ _#_ _jetlagged_

Plus, his habit of replying in rhymes… He had a way with words. _“And you wonder? I make my living talking trash,”_ he laughed when Lance somehow mentioned it. It definitely was far from trash in private talks. The vision of evening on skype was making Lance’s gloomy autumn days somehow bearable.

_Love is love in bad weather_ , Nico once said and he understood it after a few rainy weekends spent at home playing games, keeping each other awake during the _Lord of the Rings_ movie marathon or just chilling on the sofa, Lance studying for an exam, lying in his lap and Nico stroking his hair holding a book in free hand…

He got out of the tub and dripping wet, dragged his feet through empty flat to collapse on the bed. After a few minutes he reached beside the nightstand, grappling for the bottle. He took a swig, then another, then held it against the lamp and deciding it wasn’t worth keeping, downed the liquor and laid on his back. Watching the spots and colors behind his eyelids changing as he was opening and squeezing his eyes was only interesting for so long, soon he got too bored. Nibbling at the skin around his nails, he got the idea of fun. He slid the fingers in his mouth, sucking on them while the other hand trailed slowly down his body to the crotch.

It wasn’t what he needed, but it was _something_. He rolled over to reach the drawer in nightstand, rummaged through it blindly until he fished out a dildo and a packet of lube. Fucking himself slowly, he hugged the biggest of the pillows to his chest, not to feel so crushingly alone, biting at it as he came. It was far from toe-curling, body-shaking orgasms he had with Nico, rather a black-out which, as he came back to his senses, left him feeling only emptier and lonelier. Numb. Just as messy as the bed he was rolling in, sweaty and sticky. He didn’t feel like going back to the bathroom, though; he wiped himself with a sheet, still wet from when he dropped on it straight from the tub and moved to the sofa. He checked the Berlin time and called the last dialed number. For just a word from Nico that would make him a bit warm, which the blanket he was wrapped in couldn’t do; for one _“How are you?”_  which he never had the courage to answer sincerely, for one _“I love you”_ that he couldn’t quite believe…

“Anything happened?” raspy voice answered after a long ringing.

“You were… sleeping?”

“Well, I have a day off, I thought I told you, well, apparently I didn’t… Nevermind.”

“No, you did, actually, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Nico, I forgot… Just go back to sleep, I’m really sorry…”

“Yeah, you go to sleep, too, for God’s sake,” Nico laughed softly, “and call me when you wake up, if you have time. Okay?”

“Yeah… Sorry, I’m…”

“Don’t worry about it. Love you, Lancey, good night.”

“Good… whatever you’re up to tomorrow, I mean today… argh. Love you, too,” he muttered. No, it didn’t make him warm. He only felt like even bigger idiot, forgetting everything and screwing up whatever he tries to do. He wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders and turned on the stereo. Guitar riffs cut through the silent darkness, soon followed by loud thumping from beneath, clang of the lift and doorbell ringing.

“Shut it down, we’re sleeping here!” voice came from behind door.

“Apparently you’re not, you’re banging on my floor!” Lance shouted back, spitefully turning the volume even higher. After more ringing and something about the police and fucking crazy drunkard, though, he admitted it might not be the best idea, at half past one. He plugged the earphones in and set the playlist on his phone. Knees drawn to his chest, hands clasped behind his neck, he was shuddering with mute, dry weep, mouthing _“I’m not okay, I’m not okay, I’m not o-fucking-kay…_ ” Somewhere between one wasted night like this and another, he understood what Nico meant by saying this music helps to get through stuff, though he couldn’t imagine _him_ in any similar state.

~

Whether it was more foul taste in his mouth or smell in the room, it made him sick. He merely propped himself up, too trashed to move any further. When he caught his breath, he rolled out of the bed, dragging the sheets with him before the wetness would soak into the matrass, stumbled, untangled from them and remained laying on the floor, close to the source of the smell. He tried to recall how that shit ended up there, followed by a few imprints of foot; he looked at his feet, one covered with dried vomit and God, if he had anything left in his stomach, it would get out of there pretty fast. He crawled further away and curled up. The thought of cleaning all that mess broke him down in a fit of neurotic sobs. But he didn’t have the guts to leave it on the cleaning lady. It was his fucking puke on his fucking floor and bed, and he had to put up with it. Somehow. As soon as he manages to stand up from where he was splayed on the hickory hardwood. If only Nico saw him now… Smart, handsome, popular, successful Nico, _his_ Nico – _he wouldn’t recognize me publicly_ , Lance reckoned. What he made of their beautiful home, he thought eyeing the dirty linen, of himself… While Nico is over there, with new friends, God only knows if they are just friends and after all, Lance couldn’t even blame him – a guy that can’t strip down and jerk off on camera without four shots likely isn’t what a long-distance love needs to stay alive and well…

 

~

 

“I can’t kiss, Stoff.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve got a fucking open wound in my mouth, I don’t wanna get some infection there!”

“From me?!”

“ _Stoffel_.”

“What? It’s been two days…”

“It was yesterday. And you aren’t sterile, no matter how much you would like to.”

“Oh geez, shut up,” Stoffel rolled his eyes. “But you can fuck, no?”

“I don’t know, the doctor said I should relax…”

“It will relax you,” Stoffel smirked, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I’ll take it easy, don’t worry.”

He was going really slow, but as Esteban’s heart started to beat faster, he felt it pulsating painfully in his gum. He pushed Stoffel away and sat up, darting his tongue to where blood was seeping through the stitches.

“What…” Stoffel looked at his cringed expression. “Is it that bad?”

He nodded while walking to the sink to spit the blood. He so hated the taste... Stoffel, sitting on the couch, followed his actions: Esteban poured some warm water in a cup, added a spoon of salt and washed his mouth with it.

“Better?” Stoffel asked as he walked past him, dressing up. Ocon nodded.

“I go home, okay? See you tomorrow.”

Stoffel’s _“See you”_ got lost in the click of closing door.

 

They barely talked to each other in the office the next day, though, Esteban was irritated and however Stoffel wanted to put it down on the extracted tooth, he was starting to feel bad about it.

_«R u at home?»_ he texted towards the evening.

_\- Yep -_

_«Can I come over?»_

_«Need to see u»_

_\- I can send u a pic -_

_«How witty»_

_«Can the pics talk?»_

_\- As far as I know, not yet -_

_«So?»_

_\- So, come -_

_«Ahh, how I love that word...»_

_\- Shut up before I change my mind -_

 

 

He locked Esteban in tight embrace.

“I’m sorry."

“Huh?” Ocon hummed, although heard him very well.

“For being pushy, I’m sorry.”

“Gotten yourself off?” the Frenchman smirked. Stoffel chuckled too, dropping his eyes, almost embarrassed for being so predictable.

"Twice." 

“The drawbacks of having a hypersexual boyfriend,” Esteban ruffled his hair. “There are still more perks, though…”

“Without porn,” Stoffel said randomly, washing his hands. “The fap, I mean.”

“Oh. Good,” Esteban smiled. “Been what? Three months?”

“Ten days, I… kinda relapsed.”

“Oh, you will,” Esteban wrapped an arm around his shoulders, leading him to the living room. “That’s okay, keep it up.”

“What were you doing?”

“Just reading.”

“Yeah, what?”

“Classics,” he pointed to a thick tome laying opened on the sofa. “Catching up with our history.”

“Oh, I read that years ago.”

“It’s longer than three columns and there are no pictures, how did you make it?”

“Shut up, I used to read books. Now I don’t have… I can’t focus on them anymore – you won’t neither, very soon, believe me – but I’ve read something in my life. And I’ve studied a lot about the Revolution.” He was twisting the book in his hands. “Republicans or royalists?”

“And for you?”

“You first, you would just say the opposite out of spite.”

“Because you wouldn’t.” Esteban scribbled a few letters on a piece of paper, folded it and handed over. “You go.”

Stoffel wrote his answer, looked at Ocon’s one, cocked an eyebrow and gave the paper back. Esteban scoffed.

“Duh. You are spiteful even telepathically.”

“Just saying, revolutions as such are pointless.”

“No.”

“They devour their own children, if you like it or not. The human factor is too weak to resist the power, the control it gives…”

“Whoa, that’s the aftermath. But the revolution itself isn’t pointless. It is sheer destructive force of will that…”

“Sweeps everything and leaves the ruins.”

“And that’s the point! You need to wipe it all out in order to build something new. Because if you just try to change it, renovate it, whatever, the old still rots underneath the nice new façade.”

“And you build it to your liking. Not the liking of the masses that wiped it out. The masses themselves usually don’t have clear ideas, anyways, and maybe accidentally, maybe not, you are the lucky one who emerged from them in the right time and grasped at the power.”

“Or I don’t. Maybe I genuinely want their good?”

“But of course you do! But you decide what is good for them. Read Orwell.”

“I did.”

“Then you should know a thing or two.”

“I do.”

“And still you believe in some utopic ideas of perfect system.”

“I never said that! I just said revolutions are good. Listen to me instead of imagining what I mean, Stoffel. Obviously, there is no such thing as ideal society, and I know no revolution can lead to it. I only said that destruction is constructive. Look at the postwar era, a boom of industry, economy, culture…”

“That’s the aftermath,” Stoffel returned. “Destruction is _destructive_. End of story. Can I have a drink?” he asked, surprising the Frenchman.

“Like, just a drink or _a drink_?”

“ _A drink_. A cocktail, anything.”

“Sure. Come tell me what with.” Esteban stood up and walked to the kitchen. When he first offered a drink, adding he used to work as a barman in his bachelor years, Stoffel looked at him as if it was some kind of criminal conduct, said it was “so lowkey” and an argument about making money followed. Esteban never offered him anything at all, anymore, on those rare occasions when Stoffel was in his flat. (And then caught him once drinking from the tap in the bathroom, because no way Stoffel Vandoorne would humiliate himself to the point of asking for a glass of water…) He didn’t like having him over, self-conscious about the place that was just as lowkey as his former jobs. As his whole former life.

This time it looked better. After studying the juices in the fridge for a while, the guest settled for cranberry.

“That one screams for vodka, Stoff,” Esteban wriggled an eyebrow.

“Nope.”

“I’ll carry you to the bed, don’t worry.”

“I thought you had to rest?”

“Shit. True. Well, next time…”

“Why do you want to get me drunk?”

“Just curious.”

“Not much to see.”

“Have you ever been?”

“When I was young…”

“Oh, cause you’re old now.” Truth to be told, he was acting so, ever since Esteban knew him.

“Nah, I mean… up to twenty or so, I… tried it a few times, but… I just got dizzy and wobbly and that’s it, no cheerful mood, no fun… Not my thing.”

“Oh God, you’re simply not meant to have fun in life, if even booze can’t do it for you!”

“Looks like that.”

“Okay, virgin version. Must be the only possible virgin thing about you.”

Stoffel cracked up.

“How old were you, actually?” Esteban asked, pouring the juice, and tried to imagine what his first time might have looked like. He was doing that, from time to time, perverted as he was. Not sure whether normal people fantasize about their partners’ past, but he couldn’t help it.

“Older than you’d probably think.”

“That is?”

“What else goes in there?”

“Coke? Or not, in the evening?”

“Uh, the shit I take would knock me out if I were high on actual coke, not just cola…” He trailed off, eyes wide.

“What?”

“No shit…” He walked to where his jacket was hanging, searching the pockets. “Eh… without the coke, okay?” he called over, clenching his fists in exasperation. “Maybe I fall asleep, somehow…”

“Wanna go home?” Esteban asked.

“Screw that. I’ll just call in sick tomorrow, if I’m groggy.”

“What?!” Ocon laughed, incredulous.

“I haven’t been on sick leave for three years. If they try to bitch about one day, I’m done there.” Stoffel sat back on the kitchen chair and watched Esteban graciously agitate the cocktail shaker. “So, what did you put in there?”

“You tell me,” he smirked filling up the martini glass. He hung a spiral of orange peel on the edge, stuck a straw through a slice of lemon cut in a star shape and put it solemnly on the table. “Sorry, I ran out of umbrellas, like, a year ago, when I stopped throwing parties, but hope this is good enough.”

“I’ve seen better, but still solid.” Stoffel took a sip, tasting it intently. “That is… bitter. Grapefruit? No… Yes? Grapefruit and… lemon?”

“Lime.”

“Near miss. Yeah. Also bitter. It’s… really good, actually.”

“Not so lowkey, is it? You’re welcome,” Esteban grinned, flipping the juice pack in the air before putting it back in the fridge. Stoffel gulped down.

“That was a shitty thing to say.”

“Yes.”

His monthly share of apologies was filled upon his arrival, so this was the closest he would get to another one. But at least he acknowledged it, that was already a thing.

 

 

“This is fine, no?” he asked kissing Esteban’s cheek and neck.

“Yes.”

“I just think with my dick when I’m horny… Next time punch me in the balls right away.”

“Don’t say twice.”

“What? No!”

“Too late.” Esteban cupped his chin and pressed a closed-lipped peck on his mouth. Stoffel took a deep breath.

“Why do you hate me so much, though?”

“Are you sure you want me to start listing it?”

“Not really. List something else.”

“Like, why I like you, why you fuck me so good…”

“That one sounds nice. I wanna listen about it at least…” He slid his hand under the covers, down to Esteban’s inner thigh.

“Well, you’ve got a real nice cock, just about the right size and shape, and I especially love having it balls deep down my throat, tied to the bed while you’re fingering me…”

“No, this was a stupid idea… And why do you like me?”

Esteban went silent.

“I don’t even know. I probably don’t like you, after all. Piss off,” he waved him off jokingly and Stoffel, with an unreadable expression, pushed himself up.

“Yeah… I know, I fucked up.”

“What? No! I was kidding, Stoff, stay here. I don’t know why I like you, but I do. Enjoy while it lasts.”

 

Was it sex or a sleepover, a particular food or just an answer to a question, there was a certain manic pattern to Stoffel’s behavior when he wanted something. He would hardly agree on this, was it Esteban asking him to stay, but as this was his idée fixe, he didn’t even mind staying up all night and missing from work next day.

Then again, Esteban had little to say, his initial pining after Stoffel was bordering with insanity.

What disturbed him, though, was whether there was anything underneath that obsessive need.

Days like this were giving some hope, but still Esteban didn’t like to drift to that place: to think of what would be left of them without their sex drive.

Who cares. They are twenty-something. Long way to go.

Deep down he just hoped he would never really need him. He was prone to believe Stoffel wouldn’t be there.

Esteban was an autonomous person. On his own since his fourteen, in a foreign land, hardly knowing any language at the start, he had to learn to take care of himself. At the age when the only concern of most of his peers back home were first crushes, first touches with alcohol and cigarettes, parents that don’t understand a thing and only care about such nonsense as the school grades, he had to do his laundry, cook some food and earn his living.

That must be where his egoism was born. Putting himself in the first place was the only way to survive. _Go big or go home_ was the motto he had taken with him overseas, and not much else: two tightly packed suitcases of clothes that in a few months weren’t going to fit him anymore, a family portrait and a dream.

He wasn’t planning to go home. Home was unappealing, poor place he didn’t want to be associated with.

He wanted to go big. Not in Paris, not in Europe.

In New York. On the top of the world. And nothing and no one were going to stop him from that, he had this dangerous determination that would wreck whatever was getting in the way, himself included.

Love included.

He couldn’t afford to get too involved and lose his focus even just a tiny bit. The competition that there was for his craved position was huge. Stoffel was safe, he was just the same, so he wasn’t distracting – no romantic evenings, endless pillow talks, trips together and other stuff provoking sparkling daydreams and lowering work rate. Stoffel was fucking his brains out and giving him motivating speeches, and that was precisely a combination he needed.

So, technically, he couldn’t care less, whether Stoffel had some serious intentions or not. Still, in the soft corner of his heart, he didn’t want a proof.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The book discussed is _Ninety-Three_ by Victor Hugo, a huge novel about the French Revolution. Coincidentally, I’m uploading this chapter on this sad, sad day. France, I’m heart-broken with you.  
> And the crying in the shower line is inspired by lyrics of one of my favourite songs which translate as _When you wait for the rain not to cry on your own, when you’ve already done everything you could but it’s never been enough, when there’s a storm on the horizon, you walk alone but I am you…_ )  
> Hope you enjoyed at least half as much as I enjoyed writing this one <3


	25. (looking through the glass) find the wrong within the past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say a villain /or, in other words, a dick ;)/ is a victim whose story hasn’t been told.
> 
> About time to tell Stoffel’s story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, I’m back! I needed a little break from this love of mine (it was getting toxic T_T) but here I go with the chapter I had been looking forward to since awhile – and maybe you were, too ;) Hope you won’t find it all too banal (it made perfect sense in my head...) and that I somehow managed to handle this bite bigger than I could chew...
> 
> Be warned: contains mentions of abuse - both physical and mental, but nothing graphic (apart from one slap).

He was spitting in his mouth anytime in the heat of the moment, it truly was just the bad timing; Stoffel jerked his head to the side, the spit landed on his cheek. He stiffened, something dark flashed through his eyes, too quick to define, and before Esteban could stop himself, it left his mouth:

“Said you had a thing for spit, didn’t you?” He didn’t get to properly apologize for the accident; a slap shut him up. Not a playful teasing pat. A slap too hard to pass it by. The one that rings in your ears and you feel like your whole brain just jumped a bit. Drawing in a deep breath, hitching in his throat from shock and pain, he scrambled off the bed, gathered his clothes scattered around the floor and shut himself in the bathroom to dress up, finally free to let his emotioins free. Amidst pulling his jeans up, he slid down against the door, shaking with suffocated sobs. He never minded people picking on him, he had gotten into fights with guys twice his size and didn’t come out of them as battered as he should have; Stoffel would’ve been a piece of cake, he could break his nose, smash his mouth, leave him a nice black eye... Yet he couldn’t, and he hated himself for it right now, because he looked wimpy, but he _couldn’t_ lay a finger on someone he cared for. Someone he fucking _loved_. Even though that someone had just slapped him in the face, and not only metaphorically. (If he at least gave him a punch, it would have been much less humiliating...) Hence he couldn’t understand how Stoffel did it like it was nothing. Besides, it was so unlike him.

Upon opening the door, he found the Belgian standing in front of them, hands in his back pockets, which Esteban recognized as the most insecure of his stances.

“Said you liked pain, didn’t you?” he said, and Esteban suspected it was only to show him what his usual remarks felt like, because he looked far from malicious. When Esteban just gulped in response and tried to get past him, he stepped in his way, raised his hand and bit his lip as the Frenchman took a cautious step back.

"Why?" he asked flatly. Stoffel bit harder, reaching out with an almost pleading look.

“I’m so sorry,” he traced the fingertips over reddened skin and looked on the brink of tears himself. He moved forward and Esteban didn’t back down this time, leaving him a chance to apologize. That was the only route to explanation which he wasn’t about to leave without. Lips lightly touching the dishonored cheek, he whispered: “I’m really sorry, Este.”

And he didn’t call him that often, not at all. Actually, twice. The first time he let Esteban jerk him off, that soft gasp before Stoffel kissed him, and then at the winter team building, when they made love and he surprisingly came with nothing like _fuck yeah_ , but a breathless _“Este…”_ , looking him in the eyes.

“Now you should actually spit in my face.”

“You know I didn’t mean to, right? I would never disgrace you in that manner, or in any other manner, Stoffel. But touch me again and you can forget I ever existed. Clear?”

“Crystal. I’m sorry.” It sounded broken and Esteban couldn’t help the pity creeping in. Not because of his remorses, they were relevant, but because of whatever that accidental spit triggered. It must have been something deep and painful. “Would you stay a while?” Stoffel asked. “Please? Please, don’t go, I...” _Need you now. Don’t want to be alone with this._

He stayed, for his own reasons. None of them was in a mood to go back to bed, they ended up in the kitchen. Stoffel boiled water for tea, just to occupy himself with something. Esteban was dying to find out what it was all about, but the “wanna talk?” kind of questions usually had rather opposite effect on the Belgian. He was brewing the tea, moving the tea bag up and down and in circles and it was starting to look neurotic. Esteban walked over, snapped his hand away from the tea kettle and pushed him up against the kitchen counter, noticing the poorly hidden flicker of fear, like whenever he made any swift move on Stoffel.

“Show me your scars, I won’t rip them open,” he whispered, holding him in a gentle hug, and didn’t wait expectantly for the answer, knowing it would only stress Stoffel out. He simply wanted him to know he _could_ answer.

~

“So… are you really staying?” Stoffel mumbled, as if afraid that with silence would break also the fragile harmony they’d managed to reach in over half an hour, during which Esteban, checking his phone and showing no intentions to leave the place, followed from the corner of his eye as he knocked back the sleeping pill and something else Ocon couldn’t catch a closer glimpse of without being too obvious (but it somewhat disturbed him), disppeared in the bedroom, came back, left again to clean his teeth and did many other scattery, chaotic activities. Now, he seemed to have calmed down, the tics mostly subsided (and Esteban made a mental note to go through Stoffel’s cupboards in unattended moment, because what the fuck is he stuffing himself with?!), he leaned on a chair and, still blinking too often, gazed at him with an unhinged urge and Esteban sensed he wasn’t asking about that night only.

“Takes more than one slap to get rid of me. But you’re down the right way.”

“Shut up,” Stoffel winced. “It wasn’t meant for you,” he said under his breath, pouring the cold tea he didn’t really want at all into the sink and walked to the bedroom.

_Yeah, and who for and why the bloody hell haven’t you slapped them instead, pretty damn hard?_

“Want the bed?” he stopped to check.

“Is that even a question?” Esteban quirked an eyebrow. Stoffel threw his pillow and a blanket on the sofa and dropped on it, squeak of the matrass masking a heavy, ragged sigh.

He was dismantled and the Frenchman, who had spent the past forty minutes thinking of a way to make him talk, found himself helpless.

“Hey… I’m sorry, too, it was a stupid thing to say,” he offered. Unexpectedly, that proved to be the way.

“ _I have a thing for spit_ doesn’t exactly mean I enjoy being spat in my face,” Stoffel snorted dryly and took a deep breath, stretching out under the blanket. That kind of suspense-loaded sharp intake, and Esteban settled on the armrest by his head. “But at least you didn’t call me a disgrace, a mistake, God’s punishment for all your sins and a sick freak of nature that should have never been born.”

It took a while to sink in, more for its absurd brutality than anything else, but when it all did, Esteban felt his guts clenching, throat tightening, blood thumping in his ears and cold gripping at his nape.

_So you dubbed them unforgiven._

He reached out and stopped midway. Stoffel seemed too distant to be taken back to reality. He would shut in and hardly ever touch that matter again. And Esteban wanted him to talk it out, once and for all. For all those years of hatred and hurt. Even if it meant sitting there, quietly waiting, till dawn.

“I was fifteen, my mother walked on me jerking off to porn. Gay porn, obviously. She threw up in the corridor…” Arms crossed under his head, he was staring pointedly at the ceiling. “My father beat the shit out of me… When I told him he can’t beat me out of liking guys, well, he tried hard, just to prove, till he saw he actually couldn’t.” Sarcasm in his laughter lacked its usual sharpness. “I left for high school to another town, then… Yeah, and since I wasn’t really such a failure, I received a scholarship to study here at the college, and you know the rest.”

Esteban didn’t, to be honest, but that could wait. He squatted next to the couch and placed a hand over his chest, feeling the heart beat slightly harder than normal.

“Yes, you’re a freak. But you are _my_ freak, and you are the most amazing freak the nature has ever created. For this kind of punishment, I want to drown in sins for the rest of my life. Starting now,” he cupped Stoffel’s face, thumbs gently following wet trails along the temples to the hairline above the ears. And it was neither oddly satisfying like having him bawl for forgiveness, nor in a weird way arousing like seeing him tear up from making love. This was just heartbreaking. Esteban, peppering his face with soft kisses, licked the saltiness of his lips and placed them on Stoffel’s, pressed together to stop from quivering.

His mind involuntarily ran back to their restroom argument, some year and a half ago. To _“you’re nothing, Stoffel_. _”_ Now he knew how deep it must have stabbed. And wanted to make him feel loved, in the first place. Appreciated, respected, important. An arm draped shyly around his shoulders; Esteban gave him an encouraging squeeze and deepened the kiss, transmitting through it everything he couldn’t put in words, which for Stoffel would be just empty sugary babble, anyways. He was soundlessly sobbing into the kiss, tears flowing, and Esteban didn’t try to soothe him.

 ~

They slept apart, on principle, but he was glad they cleared the air. Lying in Stoffel’s spacious bed, he was putting together the pieces of his boyfriend’s personality that he had come to know so far. A fifteen years old is naturally curious, nothing weird about that. Esteban had seen his share of 18+ stuff, too. But, he supposed, in Stoffel’s stubborn head prone to compulsiveness those exaggerated reactions caused a twist: I am normal, watching porn is normal and to hell with you, I will watch as much of it as I want. _Much_. That’s more or less how it happened, probably...

 

It was a few weeks before his graduation, when he came to Stoffel’s place and they watched... he couldn’t even recall what, because some ten minutes into the movie, Stoffel turned down the volume.

 _“I wanna quit the porn,”_ he said casually, and only hands fumbling with the remote control gave him away.

 _“What?!”_ was Esteban’s first reaction, because he honestly didn’t understand. Stoffel almost broke the remote control in half.

 _“I… it’s… uhm… don’t… just listen,”_ he looked at him, exasperated, and Esteban had to bite his tongue not to laugh.

 _“I am listening,”_ he said patiently, _“I’ve heard I, it’s, uhm, don’t, anything else?”_

_“It’s… it’s not about you or… about us, not at all. I just can’t…”_

_“Alright, let’s skip the part where you admit being addicted. What’s next?”_

_“Next, would you help me?”_

Now that was a word he couldn’t even imagine Stoffel pronouncing.

_“Of course. How?”_

_“Just… knowing about it,”_ Stoffel shrugged. _“Would be nice, you know, if I could… brag to you a bit.”_

Esteban slung an arm around his shoulders.

_“I will help you all I can, Stoffel. Come on, brag to me.”_

_“Two weeks.”_

They both cracked up.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Stoffel muttered, nipping at the control buttons and Esteban could swear he had never seen him so crestfallen. Sometimes, it looked like he was starting to gain some _real_ self-confidence under his overblown ego, a part of which was letting his feelings show without so much fear of losing his face. But this was way too much.

_“So… tell me, all the time, when we were fucking, you were think--”_

_“No! No, I… at the beginning, yeah, but… I was doing it with everyone, it had nothing to do with you, but… you are the only one that makes me wanna stop…”_ The remote control was on the verge of destruction. Esteban took it from his hands, Stoffel pressed bases of palms to his forehead. _“Just that I can’t get the shit out of my head…”_

 _“Stoffel, Stoffel… such a beautiful guy, and so much dirt inside,”_ he shook his head.

_“Wish I could ever come clean…”_

Esteban bit his tongue and rubbed his back. He understood quite a lot that afternoon. About Stoffel’s struggle with intimacy which he as something pure wanted to keep from obscenities assiociated with sex and about the frustration when he kept failing, about his one-track mind triggered by pretty much any innocent impulse into uncontrollable erotic fantasies, about the resignated perspective of knowing he was damaged for life, because _he was_...

 

He spent a pleasant evening – and late night – studying the pornography addiction and the ways to get rid of it without seeking a professional help or joining a community. He went through a few fits of laughter imagining Vandoorne at the therapist and in the circle of fellow anonymous sexaholics: _“Hello, my name is Stoffel and I’m a porn addict.” “Hi, Stoffel!”_

He sent him a long mail, not too bothered that it was 3:27 AM, and didn’t address the matter with a single word the whole next day. It was much easier to deal with impersonally. At 8:58 PM he received a text:

_\- U sure about the 'watch something nice if u must'  part? -_

_«100%. Look, im not saying u should be looking at it - see previous points»_

_«But i imagine there is a moment when u just CANNOT hold back»_

_«And not that im any expert at this but any recovery from addiction begins with lowering the dose no? :P»_

_«Its all bout how u feel afterwards»_

_«That might make u feel less crappy ;)»_

He swiftly browsed through a porn site and copied a link.

_«Kinda what i had in mind»_

_«(this is pretty much how i made sure im gay)»_

Video featured two guys undressing each other slowly, making out, making love… There was a turning point of Esteban’s life, when he needed to understand what his attraction for Lance was. Or, more accurately, whether they were only feelings confused for something else, given the hormonal activity, dissatisfaction and curiosity, or there was a solid base of sexuality to them. But he was crushing on his friend too hard to test it on anyone around him. That’s where internet usually steps in when real life fails.

(Not that it was of any help, because he still didn’t have the courage to make a move, but at least he knew what was going on with him.)

Soon he received back a link with caption _«_ _I’m gonna rot in hell…_ _»_ And no matter what Esteban’s preferences in bed were, that felt uncomfortable to watch. He just clicked through the video seeing a few fragments: a blindfolded guy writhing in the ropes, choking on some cocks, tears mixing with saliva, a bunch of other guys taking turns fucking him individually or in two, choked cries with a gag in his mouth that had little to do with pleasure… It was sheer depravation, not violent (and nowadays, Esteban understood why) but morally utterly, blasphemously twisted: a personification of fuck doll merely being used – as stated by the protagonists themselves – in various disgusting ways, degraded to the lowest point of no dignity.

He just sat staring at blackened screen. _“Wish I could ever come clean”_ had a whole new meaning and he was really glad he didn’t reply with _“You will.”_ It was actually a miracle, Esteban reckoned, that he was able to have a more or less normal sex life.

He unlocked the phone and saw Stoffel was still online after fifteen minutes. Most certainly he wasn’t chatting with anyone else, because… well, he wasn’t. Nico was peacefully sleeping somewhere in Dortmund and there was no other living soul the Belgian could be interacting with.

And with a sudden pang in his chest Esteban pictured him sitting up against the headboard, pressing into it in timorous wait, that brilliant brain overanalyzing the conversational silence, and the veil of disgust lifted. It was a truly corageous step he decided to take, in both giving up his guilty pleasure and telling Esteban about it. And that courage deserved some respect.

 _«_ _It is hot in hell_ ;)» he eventually texted back, glad he came up with a mood-lifting reaction. The answer, sent in a matter of ten seconds, threw him off again (and if he wasn’t pragmatic as he was, he would have felt a few butterflies in his stomach, too; but he only felt slight cramps, consequences of the salmon pasta dish he had for dinner):

_\- But eternity without u will suck -_

_«Promise my best to join u there ;)_ _»_

 _«_ _Not sure if i can live up to this tho…_ _»_ and an arrow upwards.

_\- You are much better -_

_\- Real life porn :P -_

_\- Just as dirty and addictive but classy ;) -_

Fine. Once Stoffel got to the point of making fun of it, it would be good. Esteban didn’t know what to do with him, seeing him so beaten, anxious, so... exposed. Price for their superficial approach to emotionally charged moments. Eventually they stumbled over something they couldn’t overcome with just a joke or ignore it until it’s forgotten. And they managed, somehow, while maintaining Stoffel’s dignity. Never being too good at handling such situations, Esteban was fairly proud of himself.

 

 

He rolled in the bed to bury his face in Stoffel’s pillow. Musky trace of cologne, menthol shampoo and a touch of sweat, an odd mix tickling the senses and stimulating imagination. He hugged it, the way Stoffel was always doing, and whispered everything he never said to him into that wrinkled linen.

He couldn’t tell why he chose that misfit in the first place, and why he was staying, seeing more and more clearly just how messed up he was.

Yet, he was staying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How forgivable is a slap? (argh, those two are raising numerous moral polemics in my mind…)  
> Really sorry if it’s getting mushy, I can’t help it, I’m a sucker for love - even if it’s a _sucker love_ ;) (if anyone gets the reference, I love you XD )
> 
> (On a different note: bear in mind that regardless of Este’s good intentions, the best way to give up any sort of addiction - pornography included - _is_ to seek some kind of professional help.)
> 
> Any thoughts on this would make me super happy <3


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started off as just another Wednesday night.
> 
> Before a few conversations painted in true colours the sad mosaic of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some depressive thoughts here.
> 
> To cheer you up - we are approaching the end of this story!

It started off as just another Wednesday night.

Nico Hülkenberg came home from the bar, where he had watched a Champions League game with some colleagues, took a shower, settled on the bed with the laptop and skyped __freelance98_ , as he wouldn’t have time in the morning, his flight to Rome was at 8:39, which was a stupid hour but he had no word in that, so a small suitcase with three neatly folded ironed shirts, extra pairs of jeans and suit trousers and shiny blucher shoes was waiting by the door, and he wanted something nice to think of on the plane, so he called his boyfriend for a chat, perhaps some steamy action…

But certainly not to listen to his incoherent answers and stupid laughs.

“Lance… are you drunk?” he scowled. It would be understandable under some circumstances but definitely not in the middle of the week, merely past six in the afternoon.

“Nooo… Why? Maybe, a little,” Lance giggled guiltily. “But you like me drunk…”

“No, I don’t?!”

“Oh, you do,” he leaned closer, tongue obscenely licking along his bottom lip. “You love it, actually. Your filthy Lancey…” He could almost hear Nico’s breath hitch in his throat, eyes going wide in horror.

“Shut up! I… I had no idea, Lance, I would never… Fuck, why… _why_ , you goddamned idiot?!” He read the answer from his lips rather than heard it:

“Because I wanted to keep you…”

“Lance… I didn’t ask you to do it, I asked _if_ you wanted to… I don’t… I… didn’t mind at all! Oh God, how could you… Do you realize what… Fuck, this wasn’t fair!”

“I’m sorry, I just… I really _wanted_ to, I just don’t have it in me… I’m boring, I know, but…”

“No. I have an idea of who might have called you that, but you’re not. Not everyone likes innocent boys, and if so, it’s mostly for the idea of corrupting them, rather than for the innocence itself…”

That made Lance think back to pushy sex with Ocon, encouragements to get louder and all the _“bite me, Lancey,” “slap me, Lancey,”_ that he couldn’t bring himself to obey, and he nearly missed the last words. When they kicked in, though, he choked up:

“…whereas they should be protected. I never wanted you to do anything despite yourself and please… Don’t do it. Ever. Again. Clear? And… don’t drink, I mean it.”

“And if I will?” Lance narrowed his eyes maliciously. “Not that I have anything else to do…”

“Wha-- Lance, what are you…”

“You won’t get it, you are there on your merry-go-round: friends, clubs, trips, football, box…”

“You’re kinda missing the point, I’m actually working here.”

“Yeah, whatever, flying back and forth, five stars, oysters in Nice, sangria on La Rambla, hard-working indeed…”

“Spare me this, you’ve got no idea…”

“Of what? What work is? Definitely not fancy fun like yours…”

“Jealous or what? I thought you didn’t care abou--”

“Jealous? Of what?! I can shit on oysters, I just wanna be there with you!”

“Well, that would be amazing, but I wouldn’t do a shit and you’ve got your business to mind over there, no?”

Lance mumbled something like _“Do I?”_ before a plop sound ended the call.

Nico sank under the covers. He shouldn’t have lashed out like that, but he was too stressed. If Lance was sober, they could discuss it properly, but... but a sober Lance would have never said that.

_For fuck’s sake, love, what have I driven you to?!_

Fancy fun? His stomach was turning upside down just at the thought of the next two days. Yes, it was fancy as hell, and he used to love it, in a Stockholm syndrome way: there were no turns from that road and if he didn’t want to wake up every day hating his life, he had to embrace it.

It was the best option, back in the days. But he didn’t want to live on the run from himself anymore.

 

He didn’t want to live at al--

_No._

No, no, Nico, don’t… _Don’t go there._ Who would you help with that, huh?

 

Breathe.

 

His family was out of question.

Stoffel would go on about how he should’ve ditched Lance right from the beginning and none of this had to happen. No, thanks.

Calling an escort was fine (and well-used; not that he was proud of it) while he was single.

After scrolling the contact list up and down, he settled on the only suitable name.

 

[1] _«Schläfst du?»_

_\- Nn :) -_

_\- Was ist los? -_

_«Nix»_

_«Nur… du fehlts mir jetzt schon ;)»_

_\- Ahh… wem sagst du das! -_

_\- Kino am SA? -_

_«Welche Filme laufen?»_

_\- Spielt das noch eine Rolle? :P -_

_«Na ja, mit dir, in der letzten Reihe… alles andere spielt keine Rolle, Sonnenschein :)»_

 

They chatted until half past one and between stupid jokes, serious talks and double entendres, Nico almost started to look forward to Saturday night.

Deep inside, he felt bad about using Seb like this, but he really, really needed company. Although he knew it was all just a spasmodic game of forced superficial cheerfulness that would be gone with the impulse in a second, leaving only emptiness. But if even for a while of distraction, it wasn’t a waste of time.

As he finally went offline, it all flooded his head again: immense guilt for getting off on his drunk boyfriend without ever realizing it, Lance’s crushingly sincere bitterness, the trip to Rome and yet again the same round of trivial talks, fake smiles, forty more wasted hours of his life...

 

Those last words were haunting him. Eventually, he decided it was worth some patronizing and called the Belgian.

“The fuck, Nico, what time is it in…”

“Screw it. Listen, be a friend, Stoff, tell me: how is Lance doing?”

“How am I supposed to know?!”

“Well, you see him every now and then…”

“No, I don’t? Sorry to disappoint you, but we’re not exactly buddies…”

“You don’t need to be buddies, but you’re not working in the White House, Stoff, it’s basically two floors, don’t tell me you never meet in ten hours that you’re there…”

“Erm… you know he’s gone, right? Nico?”

“Gone? Why… where?!”

“Well, I don’t know, ask Esteban, maybe, but… what I know, he came to the office pretty shitfaced, so they kicked him out. He sucked, lately, anyways. Even more than normally, that is. How didn’t you know?”

“Shitf… what… sucked… _when?_ When did they kick him out?”

“Some… three weeks ago? Excuse me, are you his boyfriend or what?”

“Shut up…” Nico, until then wandering aimlessly around his flat, hung up and leaned on the wall.

 

Stoffel was calling back; he dismissed the call and texted:

_«I am fine»_

_\- No ur not -_

_\- Wanna talk? -_

_Do I look like I want to talk, sweetheart?_ Nico thought, some fondness bleakly shining through his opaque state of mind.

_«Maybe later»_

_«Thx waffle <3»_

_\- Can I kill that moron in the meantime? -_

_«Sure»_

_«Bury us together then»_

_\- Not funny -_

_\- Do some stupid and u will see… -_

_\- Not coming to your funeral u idiot -_

_«I will haunt u for the rest of your life»_

_«Delete your analyses overnight»_

_«Write embarrassing shit on your car»_

_«And u know i know some…»_

_\- Shit -_

_\- Okay -_

_\- U prefer a wreath or a bunch of flowers??? -_

_«A wreath»_

_«Looks sadder»_

_\- Who says i will be sad? -_

_\- Just saving my ass but shh -_

_\- Life is about appearances no? -_

_\- Pretend or die -_

_\- Your bf could say something about it -_

_«That makes two of us»_

_«Shitty fucked up life»_

_«Goede nacht piemelkop <3»_

_\- Ik ook van jou :P -[2]_

 

Shitfaced. Three weeks ago.

Nico tossed the phone on the table and plunged himself in the sofa with a deep sigh.

That wasn’t the sort of things he wanted to analyze on his flight.

And in the remaining six hours before it.

Gazing intently at the flickering tv screen, he was trying to catch at least the main sense of the programme – no matter how stupid. The silent darkness was killing him. Kind of literally.

Stoffel was priceless. The only one for those morbid jokes. And they were really helping, to some extent.

Yet, underneath the shots, blasts and corny script along the lines of _“You know why we are here now, right?” “You’ve made a mistake you’re gonna pay for…” “When your father and I first met…”_ , during which, obviously, deus ex machina rescues the protagonist, he still could hear that quiet but insistent voice at the back of his head, counting all the lives he had messed up.

His mother, who couldn’t find her peace for years, and maybe still can’t but she’d never tell.

His father, who would never tell, neither.

Benni, left with just a name and his twenty-two years carved in stone.

 

Lance, drunk, sacked and lonely, all because of him. His Lancey... He never deserved this.

 

_Fuck you, Nicolas, you just should’ve done it better, fifteen years ago._

 

 

* * *

 

_[1] «Are you sleeping?»_

_\- Nope :) -_

_\- What’s up? -_

_«Nothing»_

_«Just… I miss you already ;)»_

_\- Ahh… tell me about it! -_

_\- Cinema on Saturday? -_

_«What movies are there?»_

_\- Does it even matter? :P -_

_«Well, with you, in the last row… nothing else matters, Sunny :)»_

 

_[2] «Good night, peckerhead <3»_

_\- Love you too :P -_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love that Dutch-chatter video where Nico calls Stoffel "Hey, piemelkop" too much, I had to include it at some point :P  
> My German is somewhat rusty (apart from the fact it never was too good), so anyone with better knowledge, feel free to correct that dialogue ;)


	27. i’ll face myself (to cross out what i’ve become)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico reflects on his past decisions, while making a new one.  
> And Lance finally gets noticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in case you were wondering, here you’ll find a bit of a clarification on how it all began, once upon a time, with Lance messing around and Nico being a dick to him.

“Zum letzten Mal,” he smiled at her.

“Ah?! Wie so?” [1]

He pointed to the next customer.

“Then I’ll tell you.”

She prepared a quick cappuccino and as soon as the man left, Nico leaned on the counter.

“You miss the US that much?” she quirked an eyebrow, cleaning the machine.

“Not really. Lance misses me.”

It was the interesting effect mostly travelers have, of sharing more personal stuff with casual acquaintances. He stopped by this coffee stand one day, in need of just a caffeine shot. He’s gotten much more. Lost in thoughts about the meeting he was heading to, upcoming birthday of his boyfriend for which he likely wasn’t going to make it, so he wanted at least to give him the best of gifts… He paid and took a few steps, when amused voice reached his ears:

_“And the coffee?”_

_“See how much I need it?”_  he turned back with a smirk. She laughed, placed the cup between them and looked him in the eyes. Could be around thirty, that kind of girl that will never turn woman, blue strands in her hair and many rings in ears, and a bright gleam in hazel eyes.

 _“Important day?”_  she asked skimming his perfect outfit and leather briefcase.  _“Good luck.”_

 _“Arigato,”_  he took a Japanese bow, grabbed the cup and walked away.

Later, as he was passing by pretty much every day, he developed a habit of stopping for a cappuccino and a few words. And as she was looking at him a bit too intensely, he felt a need to clear the things.

 _“I’ve got my family here and boyfriend in New York, so… hard to tell,”_  he said when asked about the country of choice. She turned out to be the type that prefers to hear her crush is gay, rather than to deal with him having a girl.

_“Oh? American?”_

_“Canadian. A colleague.”_

She was one of the few that didn’t throw a generic  _nice_  or  _cute_ , seeing a photo. She narrowed her eyes, laughed:  _“I want his lashes!”_  and tilted her head.  _“A pure soul. Treat this boy good and you’ll have the love for life.”_

In those nearly two years, the stand had moved to another street, but Nico didn’t regret changing his route and leaving fifteen minutes earlier for a delicious coffee and a few kind words, and her braids had turned from blue through purple, pink, natural with wooden beads and orange to green and some of the earrings were gone, but she was still the same free-spirited smiley.

“Anything happened?” she asked, genuinely concerned. Nico made a drinking gesture. “Oh. Oh, that sucks.” From the bits she’d heard about him, she could guess the boy was deep in shit. Too decent to ask further, just offered a smile and a bit of her philosophy: “They’ll tell you love is when you forget yourself for someone else. But real love is when the other one reminds you, you know? Good on you. Go remind him he has a life to live.”

That hit close to home. Lance could’ve ditched him long ago and find a guy to keep him company, yet he hasn’t. He martyred himself for their love and that wasn’t something Nico could close his eyes at any longer.

She rolled up a sleeve of her knitted cardigan, shook her wrist to find among the many bracelets a chain with various charms. She was apparently clipping them on it on occasions. She ripped one off and stretched out her arm.

“Every place you go, you leave a piece of your soul. And a piece of that place stays with you, keep it dear. And don’t forget what matters the most in life. It’s not anything you can buy.”

Nico opened his hand, a small metallic piece dropped on his palm with a few snowflakes; she closed it and held his hand for a few seconds. He gulped.

“I don’t have…”

“You’ve given me much more. The time a man like you doesn’t have that much of, you’d spent talking to a street coffee seller. Take care, Nico. And of your boy, too.”

“I will, you do as well.”

“I turn how the wind blows, I’ll always be alright,” she laughed.

 

In the cab to the airport, he finally opened his hand. There lied in sweaty palm a miniature hourglass. Yeah.  _That’s so_   _you_ , he smiled,  _dreamy catcher of little moments of life_ … And she was right. Those are what matters the most. Not only he had to remind Lance to live his life. He needed to be reminded, too, of how to stay on top of things.

He had made a step to remind himself already, he thought chewing on his unswelling tongue. It was stupid. It was infantile. It was an embarrassing way to put up with the middle-age crisis creeping in.

But he couldn’t care less. He was too tired of being all tied up. It didn’t matter anymore.

He decided to hang the sand clock on the mirror in his car, along with his grandma’s rosary. A memory of precious souls of two wise women.

 

If only he knew Lance better and could tell when he was faking, if only he realized his  _“I miss you”_  wasn’t just  _“I miss you,”_  it was  _“I don’t wanna be alone,”_  and his  _“I’m fine”_  meant  _“Please, ask it again…”_ , if he paid more attention to what he was putting down on too much work and stress…

If only he put it together in his indolent brain, when Lance was asking about Benni, drugs and addictions…

 _“Have you ever… tried it? Drugs, I mean,”_  he asked. Nico sighed.

_“What do you want me to say?”_

_“Truth.”_

_“Yes. Weed, some extasy, yes. Heavy stuff, no.”_

_“And… is it hard to give up? I mean… how do you know if you’re addicted?”_

_“Well, it depends, there are various symptoms… But generally, you surely know when it starts to mess up your life. Like, you lose your interests, your friends, your job, you do whatever it takes to get a dose and nothing else matters… Why?”_

_“Just wondering_ ,” he shook his head and Nico was old enough to know one just doesn’t wonder about such things for no reason at all, but he was so sure he would have noticed if anything was wrong, that he missed what was right before his eyes.

It was his fault. Just as everything that went down, ever since they met. It would be easy to blame Stoffel, but if he was honest, he couldn’t. And Nico preferred to be honest.

He just shouldn’t have poured his heart out to the worst emotional wreck around him.

 

 _“Let me see what he’s worth,”_  Stoffel smirked.

_“Sorry, you’ve lost me.”_

_“You like him, don’t you?”_

_“Yeah, and?”_

_“Like as in like, not like as in just wanna fuck.”_

_“Alright, next?”_

_“Next goes your Stoff,”_  he shrugged smugly and walked over to sit across the table from Lance. Nico couldn’t hear anything, but the highly seductive expression was speaking for itself. As well as Lance’s hand with fork frozen halfway to his mouth. As Stoffel stood up, returning to Nico with a victorious swagger to his walk, the latter felt his guts fall. He wasn’t so sure he wanted the Belgian’s assistance of any kind.

 

 _“Got him,”_  Stoffel said casually a few days later, as they were leaving the office.

_“Huh?”_

_“Your maple sweetie.”_

_“Oh, did you?”_  Nico raised his eyebrows and tried not to let the disappointment show.

 _“Yeah and fuck, he’s good!”_ He looked surprised.  _“Listen, if you don’t mind me…”_

_“I don’t. Whatever you please, Stoff.”_

_“So, we’re the «_   _what’s mine is yours_   _»_   _kinda buddies now? Funny…”_

_“Actually, why not? He wants his slutty ass fucked…”_

_“That’s my boy,”_ Stoffel patted his shoulder. He couldn’t miss the veil of sadness in his friend’s eyes, though.  _“Oh, c’mon… How many times have I told you?”_

_“Many.”_

_“And I was what? Say it.”_

_“Right.”_

_“Here we go. My sympathies, Nico. I would offer a comforting fuck, but I don’t think we’re any compatible…”_

No. And the use of word  _compatible_  when talking about sex was exactly one of the reasons they weren’t. Nico suppressed a laughter.

_“Do you ever have anything else on your mind? Don’t worry, I don’t like you anyways. You’re too short, too Germanic and way too cocky even for my patience.”_

_“Not sure whether I should be glad or offended.”_

_“Be glad.”_

_“Okay. What does too Germanic mean, though?”_

_“Means I don’t fancy sharp-faced, blueish-eyed blondish guys, clear? I get enough of that in the mirror…”_

_“Not really blond. My hair. Whatever. Well, with Stroll you definitely wouldn’t have to worry, he’s nowhere near any sharpness…”_

_“Watch your mouth, Waffle. He’s not stupid.”_

_“I think he is.”_

_“I don’t give two fucks about what you think, in case you haven’t noticed yet.”_

_“Do you give at least one fuck? In case you haven’t noticed yet, I am annoyingly often right. Want a lift?”_  he asked, which was his way of offering actual comfort. The usual lift would last about three-four hours, getting out of the city and just driving around involving in real meaningful talk or just enjoying companionable silence.

What the Belgian had told him so many times and now was triumphant about it, was basically that Nico won’t ever have a happy relationship, because that would require a guy worth him. And such guy, in Stoffel’s opinion, hasn’t been born.

He wanted to spare his friend another heartbreak, it was his idea of help with benefits, because why not? Nico was the one to blame for letting him even close to that innocuous being. Must have been the side effect of that sort of friendship, that he felt the urge to pay it forward, for once let someone feel his pain.

They were so different in what they had in common, with Stoffel. Whereas the latter was taking his hate and anger out on the whole world, Nico tended to self-destructively suffocate everything deep inside him.

Until he burst out, and this time he wanted it to be someone else who would suffer.

He succeeded with that, but it wasn’t any satisfaction at all. Because that’s not who he was, he just couldn’t take pleasure in hurting someone. Especially if he came to know Lance better and understood how wrong it was. How wrong he was.

 

~

 

He dropped the suitcase and spread his arms.

"A bit early present," he laughed as Lance just gaped. "Thought you’d be happier..."

"I... oh my God! I am super happy, just... how... I mean... how long are you staying?" he stuttered, eyeing the luggage. Nico was usually travelling home with only a crossbody or small backpack.

"As long as you want me to."

"Huh?"

"We’re in this together now."

"What?"

“I quit.”

 _“What?!”_  Lance wriggled out of the embrace. 

“My job, what else?”

“Wha…what happened?”

“Well, you happened.”

“No! You… Nico, you can’t…”

“Apparently I can, as I already did.”

“Shit… I didn’t want you to…"

“I wanted myself to, I have for years, so I can only thank you for the push.” He was smiling, so bright, at peace, and Lance still couldn’t wrap his mind around what was going on. “Look, I might be a goof, but I know when to take my responsibilities. You are my responsibility. Not a burden, not a trouble, nothing like that. Okay? I love you, Lancey. And if you can’t make it on your own, I’ll be with you. I don’t mind at all."

"I know it was my idea, but I thought it would work fine, I swear, I… but I’m so… so lost here. I’m sorry,” he hung his head, “I’m so, so sorry, Nico, I didn’t want it this way, I’m…”

"Don’t, just don’t apologize, okay? It’s normal, I get it."

“No, it’s…  _normal_  people would find themselves friends or something, but I… Tati is so busy with the baby now and… Damn, you were so right! You were so, so right…”

“About?”

“The… the people here, the… relationships. They’re empty.”

Nico surely didn’t want to be right at this cost.

“I was so glad to be among the folks with money, finally they didn’t see me as just a wallet on legs… But in the end, they didn’t see me at all. I don’t have anyone here, Nico…”

“Esteban?”

He winced.

“Anything happened?”

“No, just… we don’t see each other much, lately. I don’t know. He’s got his own life, I’ve… got no life,” he laughed sadly. “And I don’t feel like… I mean, I’m not sure if he would or not but… I don’t trust myself at this point anymore… I’m sorry, I love you so much, Nico, and I want you so, so much, but if I just can’t have you…” His voice cracked. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if I did it, but I don’t have much blood left in my brain,” he adjusted his crotch meaningfully and Nico sighed. Not that he didn’t know the problem. His eyes would regularly keep landing on some flight attendant’s ass, leading him to eventually stride to the restroom and jerk off, casting away the image of that hunk bent underneath him… And it was even worse rolling in that empty bed, craving for someone to warm the sheets… Thus, he could only compliment Lance for his strength. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy at all and he honestly couldn’t tell how long he would last.

“I know, Lancey,” he caressed his cheek. “How about we just fuck and get on with this later?” Just thinking of the frustration made it even more prominent. Lance nodded and shifted himself to sit on the table, legs spread in an inviting angle.

As their tongues entwined, he pulled back in surprise.

"Nico?"

"Yeah... call me stupid, I just had to," the German flicked his tongue, flashing a barbell jewel stuck through it. It was a bit odd at the beginning, but he got used to the familiar sensation soon. “I was told ages ago that it adds an extra thrill, if you know what I mean,” he winked and caught the piercing in his teeth with a wide grin. Lance blushed at the implication. “So… if you want a proof, I'm all in.”

“Hey, uhm…” Lance broke the kiss again after a while, “ _I- I know_ ,  _Lancey_  means…”

“Never.” Needless to say that he had thought of it, to the point of wanting to “make them even”, needless to tell about all the coquetting games, the mile high jerk offs… In the end, it’s only deeds that count.

“Thank you,” Lance whispered against his lips and God, if Nico wasn’t blessing all the guardian entities that had stopped him from knocking on that hotel room, that night…

 

He apparently knew what he was doing and Lance had to admit that the feeling of steely bead pressing lightly into his shaft was spine-tingling, and so was the idea itself, and the very fact that he had gotten a piercing, in his thirties, which Lance tended to believe had something to do with his admiration for Nico’s old photos and all in all, he was mind-blown.

"Is there any way I could give it back? The thrill, I mean."

"You absoutely don’t have to," Nico said and pressed a kiss to his neck, and he got a lie-by-omission vibe from it but didn’t insist.

 

 

 ///

 

 

Five days later and Lance still couldn’t believe it was happening. Still couldn’t shake off the inner tension, realize that he wasn’t going to wake up to an empty bed, empty flat, empty life the next morning, that he didn’t have to cling to Nico every second of their measured time together...

He just couldn’t understand why he wasn’t exploding with happiness. He should be and he was trying, really, but most of the time, he just felt like lying down and crying. He had no thoughts in his head, nothing to grasp at, complete mental emptiness and he hated to fill it with dumb tv programmes and endless scrolling of endless feeds, but it seemed to be the only way.

Nico didn’t deserve this at all; he quit his job, for God’s sake, he was keeping him company although it had to be awfully annoying, and Lance desperately wanted to get better, just that he couldn’t really see how.

 

"Don’t worry, Lancey, step by step you’ll get through this," Nico said when he somehow called himself  _"a lost case."_  "I’ll be with you all the way, promise. That is, I gotta go back at some point," he needed to pack the remaining stuff before giving his Dortmund flat for rent, "but if you want to come with me, we can make it a few days trip." He nudged Lance who gave a quick nod. "Or... actually, I wanted to ask... if you’d like to stay over for Christmas, I’d be very glad."

"In... in Germany? Like..."

"With my family, yeah." Nico scratched the back of his head. "If you don’t, I get it, just say it, it’s okay, but... just so you know, you’d be very welcome. They’ve been asking about you a lot, you know."

"Oh God. I don’t think I will make a great impression..."

"Don’t think about that. And you don’t have to answer now, just... let it sink in, maybe?"

"Of course. I... thank you, Nico, it... it means an awful lot, really, I just..."

"Shh, no pressure, okay? Not that I need to book you a room there. Just tell me whenever you want."

"Yeah... thank you so much."

“Hey… wanna go running around like an idiot tomorrow morning?”

"Catch up if you can," Lance cocked his head with somewhat lively smile. Nico gave him a soft kiss and put on the most reassuring face.

“Then in the afternoon, you have the appointment.”

A strained sigh, downcast eyes.

“You’ll love her, trust me.” Nico had talked to his therapist about all the mess he found upon returning home, As much as he was looking forward to visiting her again, after all the skype sessions, he decided there was more important problem to sort out. She agreed to see Lance instead of him as she had no free appointments.

For Lance who wasn’t aware that his boyfriend had any therapist at all, it was fairly shocking.

“So, I’m officially crazy…”

“Well, thank you,” Nico snorted and ignored his apologetic stuttering. “This world is crazy, Lance. It’s crazy for perfection. You ought to look good all the time, be successful, in work and in private life, all the time… Our society is a mess and there’s nothing wrong in getting some help when you can’t stand against it on your own.”

“You are. All that. You  _are_  perfect.”

“Me?! Oh love, I’m far from perfect!” He shook his head and at the same time realized in the back of his head that’s exactly what he’d been doing: trying to be perfect, at least for Lance. And it didn’t help the Canadian much. Maybe it was about time to tell him he wasn’t the only one with a breakdown. “I know you’re feeling like a shit, like you failed, know you’re ashamed, but you don’t have to be. It’s okay to feel down, to feel lonely, whatever, to be in troubles, but you need someone to share it, and I wasn’t there. Not physically, I mean, I wasn’t there  _at_   _all_ , I let you sink and I’m sorry, Lance. I’m sorry. Because I know what it’s like. To hit rock bottom.”

Lance looked up, stupefied.

“What… if I can ask…”

“You can anything, Lancey. I… just…" He wasn’t used to talk about it seriously. "You know, they teach you that boys don’t cry, don’t hit in love so hard they can hardly breathe and sleep, don’t get hurt and insecure… So you’re playing it cool, until you just can’t play anymore.” He made an x-cross sign with his hands. “Game over. I just got lucky I respawned,” he laughed, avoiding the glistening hazel stare.  _Just don’t ask me why, I won’t tell you, sweetie. Never._

“Why?” Lance breathed out.  _Interesting, how much money are fortune tellers making? Might be a better job than the old one…_  Nico chewed on his lip for a few moments.

“Because sometimes you get too attached to people that aren’t any worth it, and you don’t see those who really care.”

And Lance, being Lance, had the sweetest reaction.

“I am worth it, I swear, I really care,” he whispered, squeezing Nico in tight embrace. "I am worth it..."

“I know, love.”  _Because you aren’t a cheater by nature, you were just confused._

 

* * *

 

[1] „For the last time.“

„Ah! How come?“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm, an example of how my imagination works: the “See how much I need it?” line was literally me in my overworked period – obviously, I just had a laugh, came back to grab the coffee and never saw the guy again… but it turned out as inspiring :D Anyways, hope you liked this mess and yay, finally something we could call happy going on here!


	28. it may be elaborate fantasy (but it’s the perfect place to start)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically, what the title says.  
> Lancey goes back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, hope you haven’t forgotten me completely :D I am insanely busy these weeks, but I finally found a while to edit this chapter (I really hope it isn’t too messy...)

“Were you good?” Lance asked, touching the synthetic fabric. He met Nico’s parents a few whiles before, they offered him a coffee and had a little chat, and now he was upstairs in his boyfriend’s room. It was apparently left the way he had left it, with some posters, little car models on the shelves, telescope, some medals and a football shirt with number 2 hanging on the wall.

“Yeah. Not the next Beckenbauer, but I was solid.”

“And you never wanted to… make a career?”

“Me?” Nico laughed. “I… I don’t wanna say I was too intelligent for that but… I could never see myself there. I mean, you know me, I would die without doing sports, but I wouldn’t have made it as a pro. They… sportsmen are a bit… different.”

“Well, you have a point,” Lance said, his own voice sounding strange to him. The jersey blurred before his eyes; he swallowed thickly.

“Lance?”

Two tears dropped silently on the carpet. The matrass squeaked behind his back and he stiffened.

“What did I say, Lancey?” Nico whispered into his hair, holding his shoulders.

“Noth…”

“Hey. What is it?”

“I used to swim,” he said weakly. “I was killing it, in my school years. Junior nationals and stuff… ”

_Excellent, Nico. Basically, you’ve just confirmed what you’d been denying until now: that he’s stupid._ Instead of hasty apologies, he decided to take time for a more sensed explanation and in the meanwhile asked what happened.

Encouraged by warm palms stroking up and down his arms, Lance took a shaky breath.

“Well, I… I didn’t want to disappoint my parents, I mean… my Dad has always had a dream that his son would carry on the business one day… Not that he would force me into it, but… I know it would make him so happy.”

"So you just quit."

"So I quit, yes. And I went for the internship instead."

It was starting to make sense and Nico couldn’t believe it never occured to him before.

“Look, I don’t know your parents that well, but I am hundred percent sure your Dad loves you, in the first place, and only then his business. And he would be the proudest father in the world, supporting you in whatever you would decide to do. Sports, business, doesn’t matter. And… I can’t take it back, but I need you to understand what I meant by too intelligent. Bad choice of word, I just wanted to say I had too many sports-unrelated interests that I wanted to pursue. Studies and so on… I lacked this ultimate dedication which is essential for sports on professional level. But again, it was a stupid way to put it and I am really sorry.”

“No, but you’re right." Lance was biting at the inside of his cheek, eyes scanning the hand drawn constellation map on the wall and all the plastic models. "You really would’ve wasted yourself, and we indeed are different.”

_We? We who?_ _You’re not a sportsman anymore…_ He felt a sharp pain in his chest realizing that somewhere deep under everything he had told himself, he still felt like one.

Maybe it was that, maybe the place, Nico holding him steady, maybe the fact that he was far from home, from his family and his hypocritical life, but he suddenly broke open.

“I don’t want this, I never did! I just wanted to swim, for fuck’s sake, how the hell did I end up here? Fucking college, fucking job, six fucking wasted years of my life for what? I’ll be stuck with this! Three times junior champion of Canada…”

Now when Lance Stroll started swearing, you could tell it was serious. When he started to yell, it was ultimate exasperation. Nico let him do, because it was finally _something_ , it was a spark of life in the apathy he had found his boyfriend in.

“I had a dream, I had a plan, I had a future, I had everything, now all I have is spleen, booze and no fucking clue how I’m gonna go on like this. Cause I’m a fucking idiot!”

Then came an unexpected blow and he could see it coming a split second before it landed - too late to intervene. Lance froze, staring at the broken cabinet door. He squatted slowly, shoulders hunched.

“I’m sorry, Nico,” he peeped, turning the shatters of glass in his hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I didn’t look, I’m really sorr…”

“Hey,” Nico took him by the hand, “screw the door, are you okay?”

“Yeah," Lance sucked on bruised knuckles, as he was being led to the bathroom, "just a scratch, I’m… no. No, I’m not okay and I don’t think I’ll ever be, cause I’ve fucked up my life…”

“You’re twenty-three, it’s not like it’s all over. You’ve been out of competition for what? Three years?”

“Yeah. Drop it, Nico. I’m done. End of story.”

“If you give up like this, you would’ve never made it anyways,” the German shrugged, covering disinfected cuts with plaster.

“How do I give up _like this?!_ Shut up, Nico, you have no idea how it works in sports!”

“I know how it works in business and if you want it or not, sometimes it’s similar. We can talk talent and fair play all you want, but there’s a fact: you’ve got money, you know people, you go places. How do you think I got that Central Europe job?”

Lance looked up, stupefied.

“I didn’t want in that way,” he frowned.

“It won’t be _that way_ , Lancey. Money don’t buy you the titles you won, they can only give you a chance. You deserve that one. Because in the end, it’s all about how you deliver. I’ve worked my way up here in blood, sweat and tears, I had nothing - literally nothing, I came to the West Coast with a few bucks and an American dream, my parents sold whatever they could apart from the roof over their heads to help me out, and look at me now: I’m not saying I’m happy, or that it is where I wanted to be, but a lot of people would swap with me. I’ve fucking made it. Myself. There were guys with way better connections and backgrounds, and they just got lost along the way, cause they didn’t have it in them. In its merciless way, business  _is_ fair, just like sports. After all, the only thing that matters are the results you bring, nothing else saves you if you don’t. And I never had any bad conscious about that move to Germany, because when you have a legit road you’ve walked behind you, you have all the rights to take advantage of it. When not, you don’t. Your record shows you do have them rights, so stop crying over spilled milk and work on yourself, because nothing is really over until you see it’s over. And I’m not gonna listen to your rants about the fucked up life for years to come, so pull your shit together and at least _try_. That’s the only way to see if you still got it.”

 

That mutual outburst was in the end what they, and mostly Lance, needed. It also helped that he was staying in Germany for one more week and had a lot of time to think about it without pressure, without everything around him - the park where he used to go jogging, his former office building, the therapy, the city itself, cold and grey and unforgiving - reminding him of how he failed.

 

~

 

They were squeezing each other for a long, long time. Lance made him promise he would see the gastroenterologist; Esteban waved his hand with a laugh, huge Rolex watch looking like it was going to break subtle wrist it was loosely tied around.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine, he was waking up with nausea and barely digesting any complex food, but not that Lance needed to listen about that right now. Maybe he should find a while to go there, really. Stoffel had told him, too. But Stoffel had no right to lecture him, as he, in his own exaggeration, couldn’t see a damn thing anymore, and still hasn’t even thought of going to the doctor. And Esteban couldn’t assure him he would find him truly sexy in specs, and he could wear the lens, after all. Deep down he knew it wasn’t as much about the appearances, as about Stoffel simply hating not being as flawless as he wanted to be. And there was no way of convincing him _that_ was okay…

He sighed and pulled Lance close for one last time. Deep down he knew he had lost him time ago, but this felt like something was definitively over. Like one last thread between him and his previous life was being ripped. From now on, it would be just him.

And Stoffel.

Lost in the shimmering city lights, in this factory of dreams that one day was going to fall to their feet, making love and money, lonely together. They would kill each other too soon if they shared a living. Yes, they slept together often, in one flat or another, but being forced into it would mean a certain end. By its… officiality, definitiveness, something that was evoking boredom in Esteban and scaring Stoffel off. Some things are more real when you don’t say them out loud. Like their push-and-pull, filthy, greedy, intoxicating love.

No need to even say it, it was expressed more permanently, since a few weeks ago.

_“What happened to you?”_ Stoffel asked, running his hand under the t-shirt up to where Esteban’s back was covered in gauze.

_“Something pretty serious, I’m afraid.”_

_“Which is?”_

_“I’ve fallen in love.”_

Stoffel let his jaw drop but couldn’t form a sentence.

_“With?”_ he managed eventually, hoping that flicker of pain didn’t come through.

_“With one damn smart, self-important, beautiful, kinky, cynical bastard.”_ Esteban pulled the t-shirt over his head and stretched his shoulders. _“Cause I see myself in him, so I still can stay in love with me… Just take it off.”_

Stoffel, still confused, carefully tore off the bandage; ornamental black letters appeared across the shoulder blades and as he stepped back to take them in, they formed two words.

_Amores Perros_

It was so meaningful and not only for their bastard endearments and favorite doggy style. It was the film they watched when he first invited Esteban over for more than just sex, following a long battle for the search bar until the Frenchman, being a guest, gave up – and eventually he’d come to appreciate Stoffel’s taste in independent cinema. (Just as many other things about him, like his straightforward boldness, when he would for example snap at a random lady in the street to “keep that little rat on a leash” when a chihuahua puppy approached him, or ask a family in the restaurant to “shut the hell up those screaming pests” – Esteban truly hated mewling babies as well…) Being fluent in Spanish, maybe to impress, maybe just to share the knowledge, he explained to Stoffel the ambiguous meaning of the title, _perros_ translating not only as dogs, but also as something miserable.

_Wretched loves_.

Just like the two of them. Still, they had each other, respect and understanding, and if you never expected that, it’s more than enough.

_“Must have hurt as hell,”_ Stoffel gasped.

_“Not that bad. I wanted it on ribs, but you’ll have better view like this.”_

_“Ribs… You’re crazy. You really are crazy, Esteban.”_ It sounded much like a compliment. He touched his shoulders lightly. _“Can I…”_

_“What you can is wash it and put the lotion, which would be great, actually, as I’m not really that elastic…”_

Lying face-down on the bed while Stoffel, sitting on his bottom, was cleaning the tattoo with a wet gauze and smearing the ointment, he pondered of fate and life. He sometimes wished he could go back in time, to hug the teen Stoffel, wipe that shameful spit off his face, hold his ears while his parents were yelling in the kitchen, blaming one another of conceiving a fucking faggot _(“They hated each other, go figure they loved me…”)_ , tell him he’s amazing as he is and doesn’t have to prove it every single day to everyone, tell him all that he is whispering to him now – at nights, because he wouldn’t get such words out of his mouth in the daylight – when the Belgian looks asleep and Esteban doesn’t know if he is pretending and nor he cares. And he wondered, what if Stoffel had his first kiss ten years earlier. He might have been completely different. Then, maybe they would never have met. And they surely wouldn’t have gotten together. There’s some good in every bad, Esteban had to admit.

 

~

 

He wasn’t worried about his living. He could always go and find a job like this one, and in any case, his family wouldn’t let him starve. But he really wanted to prove himself worthy, prove to Nico that he’d found a boyfriend to be proud of, not just a confused depressed drunkard. His beloved Nico, tapping at the steering wheel of his beloved Evora to the rhythm of his playlists that Lance had gotten so used to in those two years. Wholly different from his usual electronics and some rap, but they were pretty good songs, actually.

_Sometimes solutions aren’t so simple, sometimes goodbye’s the only way…_

_And the sun will set for you._

He hoped it would rather rise for him. With the man he had by his side, he could quite believe it.

He cleared his throat, for the last time repeating the sentence in his head.

“You know, if you ever wanted to go back to Germany, I’ll go. Ich habe Deutsch gelernt, ich kann dort leben,[1]” he mustered, which left Nico gaping.

“Wenn?” he asked, turning to him amazed. “Und du hast nicht gesagt?![2]”

“Wenn… watch the road,” Lance chuckled, “wenn du wa… in Deutschland war,[3]” he bit his lip, unsure about the sentence structure, and although Nico nodded in approval, he continued in English. “I… didn’t want to tell you before I saw if it was leading anywhere… You know, it was the only thing that had me going, sometimes… I was taking a course, until I was… too trashed to go there in the evenings, but… I have learned something.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Because it’s your language, I think that’s some basic respect to at least try to learn it. And well, I thought, if you wanted to stay there…”

“Lancey… if Canadian wasn’t English, I would learn it straight away.”

“Well, I can teach you some slang,” Lance offered. “In change for the German one, I don’t wanna sound like a course book.”

“Deal,” Nico shook his hand. "Well, you could have a chat with my fami…"

"Oh no! I would have said some stupid, I know it. Next time I will, promise - I’ll just improve it a bit."

Nico nodded. That was so _Lance_ \- not saying anything rather than making a mistake, but though he couldn’t relate, he could absolutely understand it.

 

 

“What do you want to do?”

“What I was doing up till now,” Nico shrugged.

“No, what do you _want_?” They stopped for a lunch and stuffing himself with pea soup, Lance decided to elaborate on the particular part of Nico’s motivational speech back in Germany that resonated with him, once the rush of finally admitting what his main problem was (and stupidly breaking the glass door) left him. 

_I’m not saying I’m happy, or that it is where I wanted to be._

It honestly surprised him and only then he realized it really shouldn’t have. He had just gotten too used to Nico pretending to be in his element.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“No, it does, actually, it matters a lot! Nico, I…” Lance bit his lip, thinking how to word his thoughts without sounding ungrateful. “I don’t nee… I mean, I don’t want you to… fuck, I just want you happy, understood? You don’t have to maintain me all my life, you’ve been doing it long enough. What I really need from you is to be with me and to live the life you want to live. Like I’m doing right now, and it’s thanks to you. Nico, you were there for me when I was…”

“No, I wasn’t,” Nico muttered with a pained wince.

“Well, you tried! Not your fault I didn’t let you… You tried and it’s my turn to try it as well. What do you want to do?”

“Social work.”

“Wha… what?” Lance stammered.

“Social work. I actually started studying _that_ , at Berkeley, but… I freaked out at practical part… Too early, I guess,” he shrugged. Sitting there, swaying idly back and forth, gripping the edge of the chair between his thighs and looking up with a strange glint in blue eyes, he reminded Lance of that rebellious boy from the photos he was keeping in his nightstand. A bit lost, a bit scared, a lot tough to cover it up. So, this is you, he thought.

“Not quite the guy you fell in love with, am I?” Nico read his expression in his own way.

“Actually, no. You are much better than I thought.” Lance leaned over the table to cup his cheek. "That was because of Benni?"

"Well, it was before he... died, but... he was a part of the reason, yeah. I just wanted to... be able to actually help people like him, like me, like... you," he nearly whispered, "and I let you fall apart right in front of me."

"No, I wasn’t right in front of you, I was half a world away and stop blaming yourself for my decisions. Enough that you blame yourself for yours. But you know, nothing is over until you see it’s over, huh?"

The German gave a small smile, not too convincing.

"Hey! Where is the Nico I knew?! The one that has taught me to follow my dreams and not to give up…”

“He’s probably chilling somewhere with the Lance I thought I knew.”

Touché.

They both faked too much not to at least mention it at some point.

"Your parents wouldn’t be too impressed, I guess," he muttered.

"Well, good thing you don’t live with my parents, then. You live with me and I don’t give a damn. If I can do what I want in life, you can do it as well. That really is none of their business, come on!" Yes, Lance saw his point clearly. Especially his father was all excited by Nico’s position and Lance suspected he had some plans involving him in the family enterprise.

He got over the only son’s withdrawal apparently easily, in fact confirming Nico’s words that he would support Lance in whatever path he decides to walk, and immediately took the initiative to get him the best coaching for his return to grace.

Yet Lance could imagine that Nico felt a sort of discomfort himself, he always has, knowing all too well that he wasn’t cut out of the same cloth, never will be and whatever gained him the sympathy of the Strolls’ family is way more fragile than he would like to. Felt like he was accepted for what he represented rather than what he was.

And deep inside Lance lacked the certainty with which he was trying to convince him otherwise, but he was convincing him anyway.

"You don’t have to strike a pose because of my family, for heaven’s sake! I don’t want you to, Nico, and as far as I’m concerned, you can dye your hair pink and pierce your whole face again, if that makes you feel good and I’ll still be lost for you, and damn proud of you as well! Always. Now promise me you will do something about that social work. Because you ought to, you’ve got the best years of your life ahead, you can’t just throw them away."

Nico raised two fingers in oath, smile a few shades more sincere.

"Promise."

 

* * *

 

[1] I studied German, I can live there.

[2] When? And you didn’t say anything?!

[3] When you were in Germany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for this disarray of a chapter, the last one will be better, promise :D
> 
> And before ending this torture, one last question to you:  
> as it goes, while creating the backstories, a few fragments have formed along the way, and I might publish them as they are (dialogues, basically), to give a glimpse of what future held for them boys, if you’d be interested – just feel free to let me know! <3


	29. (wash the sorrow from off my skin) show me how to be whole again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not exactly "happily ever after", maybe. But still way better than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this before I’ll get too busy again... :/  
> Remember Stoffel’s beliefs from chapter 11? They go redefined a tiny bit here…
> 
> Also, this whole messed up story, in its way, is kind of a little tribute to the dearly missed Chester Bennington who didn’t make it through, but his message of struggle and mental wellbeing awareness lives on in his music – which is why I close it with a songfic-like chapter, with the song that gave it its name (and some underlying recurring motif that maybe only I realized).
> 
> Anyways, enjoy and please, take your time with the END NOTE :)

 

_Take me down to the river bend_

_Take me down to the fighting end_

 

“Have you heard the news?”

“Oh yeah. Shit sucks.” Stoffel crunched up his nose. “Actually, I’m…”

“Why?”

“…reporting about it tomorrow… Why?! Esteban, come on, you looked intelligent to me!” He looked up from the newspaper.

“About what?! Stoffel, what are you talking about?”

“Michigan?” he shrugged with a puzzled look. “And you?” Oh, sure. Dramatic decline of sales. Esteban let out a frustrated huff.

“Your friend?”

“Oh. This. Well, I hope he’s not gonna invite me. I like him too much to wreck up his big happy day.”

“You’re impossible!”

“What do you want me to say?! That I wish him many blessed years with the love of his life? Sorry. I can’t stand the guy, and I can’t stand weddings. Enough?”

“More than enough, thank you.” He sounded annoyed and Stoffel couldn’t concentrate on the article about medical service reforms anymore.

“What?” he shut the paper definitively and turned to him.

“Nothing. Just that the guy you can’t stand is my best friend, pulling out of some nasty shit, and I’d like you to at least pretend to show some respect.”

“As far as I know, you haven’t seen your _best_ _friend_ in, like, half a year, but whatever…”

“It’s been… I didn’t… That’s none of your fucking business!”

“Isn’t he more like the only friend you still think you have?”

“Whoa, I’m not you – and I’ll never be!”

“Looks like it, though. And anyways, you could be glad if you were me…”

“Thank you, I think I’m better off."

 

_Wash the poison from off my skin_

_Show me how to be whole again_

 

* * *

 

 

**Save the date**

Lance & Nico

have the pleasure to invite you to their wedding + after party

 _Saturday, May 27, 11:00 – ∞,_ _Jardin botanique de Montréal_

Cut here _\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -_

R.S.V.P.

Yay, finally! Gotta win the gift contes-- I mean, _love you, boys!*_

 ~~Screw that, who cares, I’m not wasting my weekend there…~~ _*_ ~~~~

_* cross the odd one out_

_And who are you, exactly?       Esteban + 1    _

 

* * *

 

 

_Fly me up on a silver wing_

_Past the black where the sirens sing_

 

“I see you struggling to _tie the knot_ ,” Lance smirked. Nico half-turned around, laughed a bit too late and nervously, and Lance walked over and took his hands, tugging at the tie.

“Hey, are you good?”

Nico was looking somewhere on the floor behind him.

“You know… if you wanna ditch me, do it now, it’s fine, just don’t leave me standing there,” he chuckled but it didn’t sound amused at all, and Lance squeezed him tight. Seeing him so unsure was rare and heart-wrenching.

“I won’t! Oh my God, Nico, I know what I’m doing! Let me…” He tied the bow and gave him a soft peck on the cheek. “Here. All ready to go. Trust me a bit, love.”

 

 _Warm me up in the nova_ _’s glow_

_And drop me down to the dream below_

 

Stoffel faked a sniff.

“Where’s my box of tissues?” he whispered. Esteban poked him in the ribs quite hard. Stoffel stepped on his foot.

“You’re gonna clean this,” Esteban hissed and luckily, they stopped in time before the vows.

Between Nico gently holding Lance’s hand, sliding a golden band on his finger with a look of relief and sickening loving devotion, and Esteban’s bright, glowing smile, the Belgian decided to admire the plants around instead.

He assumed his boyfriend clearly longed for the kind of happiness the couple at the altar was sharing, something he wasn’t capable of.

For the third time in his life, Stoffel Vandoorne felt like he wasn’t good enough.

But he is, right?!

No?

He can at least try…

 

_Cause I’m only a crack in this castle of glass_

_Hardly anything there for you to see_

 

He ripped a flower off surely a very much protected plant and walked towards the car.

“Hey,” he slapped Esteban’s butt, stuck out as he was looking for something at the backseat.

“Hey you, listen, _wrap it nicely_ in stoffelish means put three different ugly rubber bands on the box?” Esteban turned around holding the gift in question and raised an eyebrow when Stoffel stretched out his hand. “What is that for?”

Vandoorne shrugged.

“For being with me,” he muttered, looking at the weird flower he was twirling between the fingers. “Not sure if I ever told you, but it means a fucking lot.”

Esteban pulled him in a firm hug.

Over his shoulder, Stoffel saw the infamous rubber bands thrown on the seat and the most embarrassing idea of his life popped up. He reached for a turquoise one, folded it a few times and rolled it on Esteban’s ring finger.

“This is as far as I can get with this shit, but… just in case you weren’t sure, _tu es à moi_ ,” he said before stamping a smooch on his mouth. Esteban closed his eyes not to roll them.  _You’re mine._ Obviously. It was all about Stoffel, always. But at least he never pretended otherwise.

“This is still further than I ever wanted to get,” he grinned, the flower tucked behind his ear and Stoffel never thought such a silly look could seem so beautiful. “Can’t wait for the wedding night, though,” tender smile turned cheeky, “preferably without rubber…”

“Oh, shut up,” he scoffed, pleasantly surprised and at the same time annoyed by being needlessly sentimental, “and move, I wanna be through with this already…”

 

“Keep him grounded,” Stoffel said to Nico and bit his tongue smuttily, handing him the incriminated box. Nico lifted the lid and rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know what you two are doing and I don’t wanna know, but I’m pretty sure Lance is not gonna run away,” he said deadpan holding up a pair of handcuffs. Lance blushed involuntarily, Stoffel patted Esteban’s back.

“No worries, I’ve got him on a leash… No, really, this one here? Oh, he’s far from running away… Just ask him,” he addressed Lance, “how he loves being tied down, all spread out… and you don’t get to fuck me for this,” he hissed to Esteban, “these aren’t random peo…”

Ocon pressed a palm on his mouth and yelped as Stoffel bit at it and shoved him away.

“Don’t put your dirty paws on my mouth!” He spat and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Nico laughed.

“Oh my goodness, Este, don’t you have to take a bath in antibacterial soap before you go to bed?”

“Not quite,” Esteban chuckled along, “but I wash my hands with it for, like, five minutes, and also wipe my…”

“Motherfucking bastards,” Stoffel threw in before walking off. Esteban laughed even harder.

“You’ve got some patience, man,” Nico shook his head.

“Don’t worry, he’s gonna get this back,” he licked his lips, nipping at the rubber band. “Well, back to the point,” he stretched out his hands with a square package in glittery paper.

“Are we getting a whip as well?” Lance cocked an eyebrow. Esteban shook his head with a snort.

“That was the original idea, but thankfully, I stopped him. Actually, this is… from me to you,” he wrapped an arm around Lance’s shoulders. “Sorry, Nico, but… this was such a nice occasion… Don’t open it now,” he caught his friend’s wrist.

“Oh… okay,” Lance bit his lip, obviously suffering.

 

_… for you to see_

 

He tore the package open the second he entered his hotel room and launched himself on the bed, gazing at the object in his hands.

It was a sort of scrapbook with photos, as well as apparently screenshotted and printed fragments of their chats and many memorabilia chronologically mapping their history, glued inside. Concepts of some high-school projects they were working on together, a picture of Lance with medals from swimming races, Taco Bell wrapping paper, cinema tickets, their photos from the senior prom and from inauguration at the university, many of the paper notes here and there, that they were writing to each other during the lessons with jokes, suggestions for the evening or just random things because anything was more interesting than the classes, then there was a double-page, on left side with a red heart drawn in the background and a picture from the bowling club, he was holding Esteban on his back, laughing in the camera, on the right nothing but the same heart cracked at the middle and a writing across: _Please forgive and don’t forget._ And as Lance turned the page, he saw through the tears how their hilarity continued for a while: the winter team-building, endless snowball fights, wrestles in powder, Esteban with a huge snowman they built, a few more cinema tickets, their silly poses on graduation day…

It ended with a letter glued in, apparently it was written in more attempts:

_Lance, my dear Canuck,_

_you are taking a big and beautiful step in your life_

_and I wish you so, so much to be finally as happy as you deserve._

_You have found a new other half._

_But I hope you won’t forget where you came from. I will always be there._

_For you._

_There is the end to write for every story._

_Your Tebi_

Then, blank pages followed.

He really was _his_ Tebi, because for the rest of the world he was simply Este, just that to Lance, it sounded annoyingly “unfinished” ( _“I mean, I would hate it if they called me Lan!”_ ) so he found his way. Esteban never complained.

Lance went through the book a few times, dedicating special attention to the final note, so touched by those smudged spots on it, and by the idea as a whole. They had drifted apart, Esteban had so little time and when he had some, Lance was in a state of heavy social anxiety and couldn’t even think of going out, but he wouldn’t tell him that, he just came up with some excuse… Both caught up in their own troubles not quite understood and relationships not quite approved by the other side, they didn’t want to talk about them and hence didn’t have much to talk about. Their utmost confidentiality had faded, and this was Esteban’s way of letting him know he noticed, and it hurt, and he wasn’t sure what they were for each other anymore. Lance could honestly relate.

Wiping his eyes frequently to see what he was typing, he texted:

_\- You will always be my other third <3 -_

_\- We gonna finish that story in style ;) -_

_\- I love you so muuuch Tebi -_

_\- Thank you -_

_- <3 -_

_« Love u too <3 <3 »_

_« It was fun to make :D »_

_\- Wish I was there… -_

_\- Where did u even find that stuff -_

_« We wouldnt do a shit rofling like 2 idiots :D »_

_« Had some high school things at home »_

_« And I went to taco bell :D »_

_\- They closed /! -_

_\- *?! -_

_« Yeah :( »_

_« Not to that one »_

_« Why are we even texting? »_

_\- Bcs im still weeping like a fountain -_

_\- Dont call me -_

_« Ok »_

_« Sorry not sorry :P »_

_\- Gotta catch up on stuff -_

_\- When r u leaving -_

_« Around noon »_

_\- :( :( -_

_« My idiot must go to sleep at 10pm exact atomic time »_

_« :/ »_

_\- We’ll get a coffee -_

_\- Then some wknd i’ll come down to nyc -_

_« Yesss!! :D will be great! »_

_\- Asap, promise :) -_

_\- Gotta go now srry… -_

_« Oh sure… go at it :P »_

_« Gn mr. Hulkenberg-stroll :D <3 »_

_\- Gn mr. Rubber band :P -_

_«Piss off :D »_

 

 

_Bring me home in a blinding dream_

_Through the secrets that I have seen_

 

Lance held the phone to his chest for a few moments, grinning wide. Perhaps it was inevitable for them, after eight years, to go through that coming-of-age phase when, tripping over the threshold of adult years, they couldn’t understand each other’s life choices. Especially Lance found it extremely hard to accept his relationship with Stoffel. He was convinced the Belgian was dragging him down, despite reminding himself what Tatiana once said: _people only become who they are meant to be_. Today, when perhaps for the first time he saw the two together, he caught himself truly amused by their interactions. Bickering like an old married couple, at the same time perspiring pure passion, so comfortable with each other, and Lance had a feeling as if they were sticking together against the world. Like they had their safe private one, where they could be who they were. He didn’t like to think that Esteban couldn’t be who he was around him.

 

 _"What is this?”_ he pulled at the rubber decorating Esteban’s hand when the latter was handing to Lance a plate with cocktail snacks.

 _“That is my boyfriend who finds it romantic to stop my blood circulation,”_ he rolled his eyes with a fond smile. _“Or maybe it’s his way of acknowledging I got him wrapped around my finger…”_

_“Isn’t he supposed to be the kinda dominant half?”_

The smug look Esteban gave him was priceless, it was the Esteban he knew and missed, the one he thought had disappeared in that messed up relationship.

 _“He’s only dominant because I let him, but shh,”_ he leaned in with a confidential smirk, and Lance squeezed him in a tight hug. He realized, receiving those ridiculous handcuffs, that he admires the Frenchman, in a way, for coming to terms with his sexuality and being proud of it, no matter if people understand it or not. Still, he needed to feel accepted by those few he cared about. Something that Lance as a best friend failed to provide.

Back then, when Esteban, with a blush, showed him red marks on his shoulder, his guts did a double front somersault.

 _“Looks like domestic violence more than anything else,”_ he cringed. Esteban sighed.

 _“I know… But I come so hard from this,”_ he bit his lip, lowering his gaze. _“Yeah, I’m a freak.”_

That was when Lance should’ve raised his chin and tell him it was okay, he wasn’t by far the only one in the world. When he should’ve embraced him and promise they would be the best friends forever, whether he was a freak or not. Instead, he just nodded, and they never talked about Esteban’s relationship, since.

No matter how much he repeated Tati’s words in his head, he needed time to come to peace with them, with the whole situation.

If Esteban was meant to be a masochistic workaholic, then so be it. Lance wouldn’t stray away from him for that anymore.

 

 

~

 

He had deleted the chat as he left Germany but kept the number for some birthday/Christmas/New Year wishes. He had sent the wedding announcement as well, and now took a while to reply to Seb’s hearty congratulations. A new profile picture caught his eye. He sent a heart emoji with a question mark. On the photo, there was Sebastian with a smile from the top of his brightness scale, and a guy nuzzling his neck. Oh, how little it takes! He received about half a dozen photos where the man’s face was properly displayed.

_\- Who’s the jackpot winner? -_

_« A Finnish rallye driver :) »_

_\- How the heck THAT happened??! -_

He recalled they had the same passion for fast cars, but still… -

_« Long story short: fate, I guess. »_

_\- A bit too short. -_

_« I bumped into him at one race, we looked each other in the eyes and forgot the world around, sounds better? :D »_

Now Nico could believe that. He was truly hit by the mesmerizing colour of the man’s eyes that he couldn’t quite define as it seemed different in each picture, ranging from grey through blue to shades of green. Regardless of what he did or did not like, Nico could recognize beauty when he saw some.

_\- Sounds like a cheap music video. -_

_« Could be worse, no? :P »_

_\- Sure. -_

_\- There could be some singing in the rain in wet shirt sticking to the chest -_

_\- Barrels on fire and a car parked randomly on a cliff… -_

_« A rallye car, to make it perfect :D »_

_\- So, since when? -_

_« Officially just three months, but… »_

And a mile-long tale followed about how amazing Kimi is and how they perfectly complement each other and… ah, how annoying these freshly-in-love people can be, Nico rolled his eyes fondly.

_\- Now thank me for leaving :P -_

_« More for what you told me before you left »_

Nico had to think for a while. It was a bit awkward goodbye. It wouldn’t be Nico Hülkenberg if he hadn’t left a trail of broken hearts as he went, but he was sorry for Seb in particular. For all the games he played, for he genuinely liked him as a person, they were peers, compatriots, Nico loved his sunny personality, sense of humour… In another reality, they could’ve made a great couple.

 _“I’m going back to the US,”_ he simply said, leaving Seb gaping.

 _“Haven’t you found a compromise?”_ he asked about the employer.

_“I don’t go for compromises anymore, my boyfriend is falling apart.”_

Seb didn’t need to open his mouth, large eyes said it all: about the tiniest spark of hope that just died, a flicker of “when are you going to let go of that pathetic wreck? You can make your money yourself, you look way better than any man he could ever dream of… What is he for, Nico?” Nico had gotten kind of used to that question. _For all that you can’t know and understand_ , he always thought, for what they’ve done and forgiven… _“Maybe you’ll get it one day when you’ll love someone,”_ he usually replied nonchalantly. Sebastian deserved a more thoughtful response to what he was too kind to ask out loud. Instead, he said:

 _“Off you go, then. Poor kid. Hope he’ll be better.”_ And he meant it, Nico knew. He squeezed Seb tight and, God knows he meant no harm to anyone, pressed their mouths together in a long, tender peck.

 _“Keep me in fond memories, I will,”_ he caressed stubbly cheek, suddenly heated up. _“You’re a good boy, Sebby, find yourself a guy that will deserve you and give you all of him. I can_ _'_ _t.”_

 

 

_Wash the sorrow from off my skin_

_And show me how to be whole again_

 

 

“Nico?”

“Yeah? Can I come back?”

“Oh my God, you didn’t have to leave at all in the first place! Where are you?”

“In the lobby. I’ll be up there in a minute.”

 

“Why did you…”

Nico hushed him. A look into reddened eyes just confirmed he did right. From the glimpse he caught, he could tell it was a truly intimate present that deserved an intimate moment. He wasn’t going to compete with Esteban for every piece of Lance’s heart, there was enough space for both of them.

“I would’ve wanted to be alone with that myself. It’s okay, really,” he assured, settling down against the tufted headboard. Lance draped an arm across his chest. "So," Nico stated conversationally, stroking his hair.

"What?"

"What’s up?" He chuckled as Lance’s breath hitched slightly. "Whatever it is, Lancey. Just tell me." 

“I am supposed to be... happy!” Lance propped himself up and looked at him, frightened. “What’s wrong with me, always?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I don’t know… I mean, no, I don’t regret it at all!” Lance sat upright and grasped at his shoulders in horror. “Not at all, Nico, if they led me there right now, I would say that vow again, backwards if you want, just that I…”

“Hey," Nico cupped his cheek, "first of all, stop thinking of what you are _supposed_ to do and how you are _supposed_ to feel. There’s nothing wrong with you. Life isn’t a romantic comedy and you know, all those flashy wedding videos that people post end where the fun ends. Nobody films their insecurities, their anxiety, their doubts, their… sadness. But it’s normal, I guess. I think it’s like… you know, that dull moment at a party, when pretty much everyone is gone or trashed or just sitting and talking, music gets slower, volume down, and everything isn’t so damn funny anymore but you don’t want it to end, cause then you’ll have to tidy up…”

“Oh my God, I know!”

“Well, that’s it. The party’s over, and we are left with the mess we’ve made.” Nico looked up at him, blue-gray eyes shiny in dim light. “It’s all nice, wedding, guests, food, fun, but this is what it’s really about. You are very young for this, and… we haven’t spent that much time actually together, so… I understand you, I really do, but don’t worry, Lance. We’ll be good. If you truly don’t regret it…”

“I don’t!”

“Just tell me how you feel. Honestly.”

Lance shifted closer to him.

“Safe,” he whispered. “Loved.” Those were the only words he could think of to describe the warmth inside.

“You are.”

“And out of place. Like, I am somewhere new and… don’t know the place at all. I don’t know where to turn, what to do, I… but I’m not running away from there! I’m not,” he pressed himself to Nico’s chest, “just… just give me a tour, if you can…”

“Well, I’ve never been there, neither,” Nico chuckled, “but I’ve got your hand, if it’s any comfort…”

“It is.” Lance kissed him. “It absolutely is, just don’t let go of it.”

“I won’t.”

 

~

 

“You’ve got any problem with my hands?” Esteban, pressing him against the car door, ran a hand down his face, fingertips grazing over his lips, pushing in between them, and he saw Stoffel close his eyes in painful surrender as he parted the lips and held his breath, frozen in his germophobic panic attack.

“Think I would do that to you?” Esteban whispered and replaced the fingers with his own mouth, turning pushy hold into a hug. “Tonight, when I’ll have them washed, though, baby…”

It was always a tricky balancing between a bit edgy teasing which he loved and hurting that OCD freak which he needed to avoid. He knew he probably could give Stoffel a real blow, dust him to the ground, but he didn’t want it anymore. Didn’t want to test how far he could push, didn’t want to see him broken, shattered, ashamed. Pride and respect were one of very few things Stoffel had in his life. Apart from money and some unhealthy habits. And Esteban, seeing him clinging to them so desperately, wanted to protect them, rather than take them away.

Only he knew Stoffel’s inner side, caught a glimpse of his insecurities which he was hiding from the world so tenaciously, and felt like this privilege carried a responsibility to let the Belgian know, every now and then, that his precious trust wouldn’t be abused.

Stoffel moaned into the kiss, clinging to him, already imagining long, slender fingers in his mouth, wet fingertips trailing down his neck…

He had never thought he would want someone in his life, but that guy was by far the best thing ever happened to him and swear to God, in whom Stoffel Vandoorne didn’t believe, he wasn’t letting him go.

He believed in hard work that pays off, people who know what they want, and his boyfriend that knows and still wants him.

 

_Cause I’m only a crack in this castle of glass_

_Hardly anything else I need to be_

 

 

 

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we stop. Hope it was an enjoyable ride till the end.  
> Any comments / critics / questions / opinions much much welcome! :D  
> A big thank you to everyone who came across, subscribed, bookmarked :), left kudos or a comment!  
> Special thanks to, in order of appearance: Neptunium134, Anna_banana and Eris99 (if you’re still around) – I dedicate this work to you, because you were the ones to get me though my worst anxious writer’s days when I believed it wasn’t worth publishing, when I was prone to remove the first chapters; you lived this story with me and my boys and I can’t even begin to express how much it meant and means to me. You’ve made me live my dreams (in terms of writing).  
> Thank you, folks.  
> Right now, I feel like I’ve written myself out, but this was sooo, so worth it…

**Author's Note:**

> (And obviously, all of this, plot and characters, are purely fictional and meaning no offence to anyone.)


End file.
